Inkbolt
by Yeomanaxel
Summary: When the world has ended, its high time to find another. Damian Volta must learn this lesson, as lightning strikes him from the old to the new. Stranded forever on an ocean full of pirates and magic, two years before Luffy begins his quest for the Throne, Volta must forge a new path for himself. His actions will decide his fate, and that of many others. Für immer weiterleiten!
1. Biting the Powerline

_A desk gleamed in the moonlight._

_A pile of parchment sat on the desk._

_A bottle of ink shone near the pile. _

_A feathered pen leaned in the bottle._

_The door creaked open, and a young man stepped in. He closed it behind him and swept into a high-backed chair. He slipped a blank parchment from the pile and flattened it on the desk in front of him. _

_He picked up the pen, dipped it twice, and began to write._

**Chapter 1 – Biting the Powerline**

The black nothingness of space shone with a million stars. One of them, once a bright yellow just a decade in the past, now glowed a sickly red, its putrid light bathing a small, glittering planet.

The surface of the Earth gleamed like a blinding gem, under a dark maroon sky. Mountains and oceans glittered, forests bursting with bright colors mankind would never see. Cities basked in the sunlight, their streets filled with sparkling figures, caught in acts of terror and debauchery. One statue held a club in his emerald-colored hands, the bright glass of a television store inches from the weapon's tip. Another woman, frozen mid-scream, stared at the sky as if seeing the Devil himself, her eyes red as rubies and her teeth hard as diamonds. Another woman stood behind her, her crazed grin petrified and her golden knife affixed to the ends of frozen arms.

The land drunk the weak light, bathed in it, and in its embrace became beautiful, hard, and cold. Only a few pockets of warmth could be found, hidden in shrouds of ugly cloth. One such pocket, the former capital of a ruined nation, sat near the edge of an island off the coast of a great, crystalized continent. A wind blew over the land, fluttering the thick cloak that covered the city. It slipped in, caressed the ancient buildings, and chilled the skin of two old men.

The men scurried down streets like rats in a maze. Their clothes, worn but clean, clung to their thick bodies in all the wrong places. Their eyes darted faster than their feet, scanning every window and crevice. The man in the lead, larger than his companion, slowed in an alleyway, his breath heavy with fatigue. The other man, his lip hidden in a tangled mustache, stopped beside him. They took one last look, and sat down roughly, scraping their coats against the brick behind their backs.

"Told you we'd make it," the larger man snorted, his voice posh and dismissive. His hands clutched tightly to a pink purse, at odds with the drabness surrounding it.

The man, known to his companion as William Flisp, smashed the zipper between two of his sausage-shaped fingers and carefully pulled it along the length of its teeth. The companion, known to Flisp as Gerald Gunton, always marveled at how delicately Flisp touched everything with his fingers. Could he be afraid of breaking something if he gripped it too hard? Perhaps there lay a story behind his friend's methodical hand usage, though now wasn't the time to inquire about it.

The purse had been stuffed with bronze bullet casings, at least a hundred of them. Flisp licked his lips, eyes bulging at the sight of so much money. "We fuckin did it," he breathed. "We got the keys to the kingdom right here in our bloody laps."

"Your lap, not mine," Gunton remarked.

"Your language is filthy."

Both men jumped to their feet, their eyes shining with rage and surprise. Flisp's knife slipped from his sleeve and into his fingers. They twirled it menacingly.

A man stood before them. No_,_ Flisp thought, not a man, just a boy. An older boy, but a boy just the same. A fucking pretty boy scavenger.

The boy stood tall and lean, his back straight and his legs long. He had warm brown eyes that contrasted with an angular face, and pale skin offset by jet black hair that rested to his shoulders.

Gunton made the first move, hand clenched in a fist that sailed toward the boy's unexpressive face. With a quick step to the side, the punch hit nothing. The boy caught the arm and snapped it with an unnerving level of ease.

The thief grunted in pain, but he didn't cry out. He'd suffered worse. Then the boy shifted his stance and pushed, jerking Gunton forward into the knife of his partner in crime. The look of stupefied horror plastered on Flisp's face quickly mirrored Gunton's, as the latter man stumbled forward, left arm useless, stuck like a pig ripe for the slaughter. The boy moved from behind, ripped the blade out, and threw it at its owner.

Flisp brought his arms up, catching the knife in mid-air, its tip centimeters from his nose. He barely had time to sigh in relief before his crotch exploded in an agony that forced the purse-snatcher to his knees. His face crumpled under the force of a steel-tipped boot, and his head bounced off the pavement with a cracking sound so loud it rattled his brain.

Conscious thought had almost left him when he felt something plunge into his chest.

A few minutes later, the man, eighteen years in body but a little older in spirit, strode out onto the road, the purse under his arm and the knife twirling in his own fingers. He didn't like scavenging for weapons, but the blade had been outside during the Varnishing, and a thin leather wrapping failed to hide the golden gleam of the handle. The blade itself shone blood-red, though the actual blood dripping from it dulled the effect.

He eyed the weapon with a satisfied expression, wiping off the blade with a napkin he found in the purse. He couldn't afford to dirty his black coat and pants, or the gray shirt underneath. He hoped Ms. Deus wouldn't mind its absence.

As he walked, he slipped a large map out of his coat pocket, unfolding it and carefully observing its contents. Currently, he stood on Denmark Road, deep in Camberwell, his destination to the north. He slid his finger across the paper, trying to retrace his path. Once he had it, he refolded the map and broke into a light jog; the sun would be setting in a few hours.

His path took him over alleyways and intersections full of rubble and wreckage. Through tunnels formed and unformed by explosions, still lined with ash. Past a trio of Oldies, their clawed, shaking hands hovering over a tiny barrel fire. The foolish would surely try to mug or mingle. He knew better.

On he strode, progress hamstrung by the state of the city. He kept track of the time using the faint glow of the red sun, its light just strong enough to illuminate the vast tarps but never great enough to Glass. Except where the fabric had torn; bright beams had slipped through to form columns of light in the gloom. Dozens of statues stood beneath them.

He passed a subway tunnel entrance carefully, wary of the dozens of Oldies slithering about its stairwell. He sneered at their bent backs as he went, wondering if they would eventually die out and free up the Underground. His thought was interrupted by a ghastly groan from behind. Spinning quickly, the man slashed at the Oldie's gray throat. Blood the color of sewage flowed out, and the humanoid collapsed before he had a chance to alert his brood. The man sprinted away, not taking chances.

Onward he traveled, until finally, the bridge stood before him, the only one still sound over the Thames. The three-headed streetlamps that flanked it shone no light, but they didn't need to. Long electric wires stretched across the sides of the bridge, providing walls of light bright enough to ward off Oldies. The lamps served as their pillars, allowing hundreds of bulbs to illuminate the walk to Westminster. Where the power source was, and how it still remained operational, was something the man badly wanted to know.

Beyond, he saw a different light, muted but warm. Thousands of candles flickering in lanterns, affixed to the battered walls of the Parliament Houses, and shining in their windows. Big Ben's hands, eternally fixed at 5:15, stood out against the bright clock faces, the glow of which seemed to push against the red glare of the sun above.

And this was only what could be seen from the bridge; the candles burned across all of Westminster, so many that some Londoners had begun to call it Wax Town. Always affectionately, of course, and never when in the company of west-enders. The man smirked at the small speck of civilization still struggling to remain solid in the miasma of this world. He longed to enter into its comforting embrace.

But first, he had to confront his shadow.

He spun around and brandished his knife. "Show yourself," he ordered calmly.

At first, no one appeared. But the scavenger trusted his senses. He began walking forward.

"Stop!"

An older man stepped out from behind a brick wall, smeared with graffiti long faded. His hair, thick and white, covered his head and lips, and his stout figure had an easy stride, as if he often took long walks despite his age. His dark skin and fierce eyes reminded the boy of an American movie star from before the Varnishing, though he couldn't quite recall the name. Jackson something, or something Jackson, perhaps. The man's arms wrapped protectively around a thick manila envelope, dirty but serviceable. His grey longcoat pockets bulged with bottles, and the monstrous backpack on his shoulders bent his frame.

Detecting no threat in the man, the boy lowered his knife, eyes still suspicious. "Who are you?'

"Just a traveler," the man said amicably. He shook his shoulders, highlighting his burden. "What about you, young man? Out catching flies?"

The young man scowled as he snapped his jaw shut. "I don't like being teased."

The older man smiled again. "Apologies. My reasoning behind such rude talk is my weariness after a very long walk, and with such a heavy load to bear I'm on the verge of tearing my hair."

The young man quirked an eyebrow at the particular speaking pattern, then gestured toward his own back. "I'll take that for you. Got nothing better to do."

The older man placed his pack on the ground, carefully, as to not disturb the bottles. The young man slid it on and continued moving forward, now with a companion.

They walked in silence for some time, the lights of Wax Town getting steadily brighter. As they neared the halfway point of the bridge, both were surprised to see that one of the lamps _was _active, its three heads glowing white. Strings wrapped around it held up dozens of small boxes, full of multi-colored lights even brighter than those on the walls.

Distracted by the sight, the rhymer tripped, his leg having caught one of the jagged ends of a piece of concreate. The young man quickly steadied him, making sure to keep his pack balanced as he did so.

"Thank you. It's not often that I receive a helping hand in this weary land."

The young man smirked. "You like to rhyme."

"It passes the time. Would you like a lime?" The rhymer produced one from his coat. The young man took it with a grateful nod, before tearing into it with his teeth. He marveled at the taste of the juice, which wasn't as bitter as he had expected.

"How did you come by such fresh fruit?"

"A little artificial light goes a long way, in making the sweetness of a lime stay."

He snorted. "Must be a strong light. By the way, I never got your name."

The old man performed a little bow. "William Tybalt, former literary professor at the University, at your service."

"Which university?"

Tybalt shrugged. "How should I know? I was teaching Shakespeare too often to find out."

He chuckled. "Name's Damian Volta, and I'm at _your_ service right now."

"True, very true. But I needn't trouble you for long. To burden others is a terrible wrong. And it seems like you have a burden of your own." His eyes glanced at the pink purse, still resting in the crook of Volta's arm.

Damian grinned accusingly. "How do you know it's not mine? Maybe I like the color pink."

"I recognize it," Tybalt said. "I happen to know the owner of that bag; she's a nice old hag."

That surprised Volta, his countenance immediately darkening. "If that's true, then you're not as wise as you look, Mr. Tybalt. I could be a purse snatcher, having murdered Ms. Deus and currently making off with her possession. And you've given me your possessions. What would stop me from killing you too?"

At this, Tybalt belted out a hardy laugh. "I saw your altercation with those sods earlier today, _Mr._ Volta. Ms. Deus loves her guns; ff you had tried to rob her, she would have blown your ass right out of her parlor and into the bloody sewers!"

The sudden abandonment of his rhyming scheme coupled with his filthy language caused a scowl to form on Volta's face, but he understood Mr. Tybalt's logic. "Well then, how do you suppose those two villains were able to take her purse in the first place? If I beat them, but she could beat me, then she would have beaten them too."

Tybalt nodded. "Indeed, indeed. But Ms. Deus has become quite forgetful in her golden years. She might have dropped it somewhere."

Volta relaxed. "And that's precisely what happened. Left at the ration pit, then picked up by those blokes and carried off into the night. She's lucky I saw what happened and gave chase."

The two men became lost in memories pertaining to the fearsome but motherly Ms. Deus, as the light began to steadily decrease above them.

Shaking off his ruminations, Tybalt stroked his facial hair, peering at Volta oddly. "You're not from Britain, I think. Volta sounds Italian, but with your accent, faint as it is, I'm going to guess…Germany?"

"Austria," Volta corrected with a smile. "I make it fery faint ven in zee brezence of others, zen I layer ein Pritish accent offer it, zough I'm schtill vorking on brounciazion."

"Hahaha, seems like you've got it down pat to me!" Tybalt smiled, and Volta knew immediately that he had found another good friend. The Lord knew he needed them.

"I can do an American accent as well," he continued. "Though it's not as good. I either sound dead inside or too pissed to walk straight." It was then that his eyes drifted to the manila envelope in Tybalt's arms. It was the largest Volta had ever seen. "What's that?"

The older man smiled fondly at his possession. "My life's work. Or, the latter part of my life's work. Tell me, have you ever heard of _One Piece_?"

Volta considered the name. One Piece. It sounded like a title, not a description. But nothing came to mind.

"Can't say that I have."

"It's a wonderful tale, really, so full of life it puts me in a tilly."

"You made that word up. Cheater."

Tybalt laughed again. "Actually, Tilly is shorthand for nearly all utility vehicles produced in Britain during the Second World War, as well as the name of a now long-defunct American retail clothing company. I bought this coat from it." He flapped his arms demonstratively. "But in any case, _One Piece_ is a comic book series from Japan, written by a man named Eiichiro Oda. It's about pirates."

"Pirates?" Volta questioned. He found himself becoming slightly interested. "Like _Treasure Island?_"

Tybalt chucked, the chuckle of a man with too much to explain and enough patience to explain it again. "Yes and no. It's a fantasy story; think Treasure Island penned by Tolkien. The main character is a young man by the name of Monkey D. Luffy, or just Luffy for short. First names are last in Japan, I believe. He wants to be the King of the Pirates, so he assembles a crew of young adventurers like himself to help him accomplish his dream, such as the Three-Sword Style master Roronoa Zoro, and the cunning, money-loving thief Nami."

Volta frowned in thought. Zoro? Swords? The inspiration was obvious to him, but how did Three-Sword Style work? And how could you be the king of piracy?

"King of the Pirates? Sounds like a mad fantasy."

"It very much is, but the title is a real position in the world of this story, one that many pirates seek. Luffy and his crew must overcome a great many enemies to obtain it. There's a lot of action and violence. Do you like those kinds of stories?"

_The knife sank into his chest, slipped out, and sank again, over and over, until the pool of blood surrounding his chest matched the one around his head._

"Not really."

Tybalt nodded, before going on with his explanation. "You see, the story was nearing completion, but it still had a way to go before the end. It was released weekly to the UK in an online magazine, translated into English. I kept reading until 2020, but at that point…

He trailed off, looking haunted. Volta grimaced; it had all begun that year_._ "Japan got hit first in the war after news of Rainbow's trajectory came out. The story died with the author."

Tybalt sat down hard on a piece of broken stone, any discomfort he felt not reflected in his suddenly sunken face. His age seemed to seep into it. "My wife…she loved nature. She worked as a biologist, studying plants in Peru when Rainbow hit the sun. Not getting a chance to say goodbye…will always be my biggest regret. Failing to finish One Piece will always be my second."

The sudden change in subject matter took Volta by surprise. He grimaced; dealing with people's woes wasn't his strong point. Awkwardly, he patted the crestfallen Tybalt.

He looked up, and Volta saw a determination in his gaze so strong it seemed to singe his eyes. "I can't do anything about the former, but I sure as _hell_ can about the latter. I've gathered every bloody scrap of information Oda gave his audience about the world, the characters, the powers, and the lore. I've spent this decade of destruction carefully collecting everything that genius man made. That pack you carry? Every volume, magazine, art book, and data card pertaining to _One Piece_ lies within. Would you care to take a look?"

Volta found himself at a loss for words. The man had spent ten years reconstructing a long-dead _comic book series_? In a world where basic necessities grew scarcer by the month?

But Tybalt did not lie; placing the knife in his teeth, his inspection of the pack revealed well over a hundred volumes of bright, colorful covers and uncolored but energetic drawings, depicting such a strange collection of images and events that Volta could barely take them all in.

Notebooks lined internal pockets, and a quick sweep through a few only heightened Volta's respect for the man. The number of characters was immense! And he had birthdays, heights, favorite foods, and decent sketches of them all?

Even more impressive was the large, folded-up timeline that seemed to stretch on and on, a mammoth accomplishment in its own right. One date stood out; in bold letters, BEGINNING OF SERIES, LUFFY SETS OUT TO SEA: MAY 5th, 1522. The stuff before that point _dwarfed _what lay ahead of it. How much lore did this series have?

"It's…impressive," he said.

"That's not all. Should this collection fall into the wrong hands on this barren land…"

"We're back to rhyming now?" Volta grinned. "Your rhythm's off."

William rolled his eyes. "…as I was saying, if something happened to that pack, I have a Plan B to preserve Oda's legacy." He uncrossed his arms, revealing more of the envelope. It wasn't just huge; it was a _monster_. Volta had seen thinner dictionaries.

"I rewrote _One Piece_ in literary form; I couldn't replicate his art style if I practiced for a century. Should I ever fail in protecting Oda's true work, I want to replace it with something nearly identical."

Volta quirked his brow again. "_That's_ a bit aroggant of you."

"Oh, indeed, but if I won't do it, who will?"

No one, Volta thought. Because it's not really important. What he actually said was, "You said 'nearly' identical. Sweetened it a bit?"

Tybalt grinned cheekily. "Oh, I _may _have added in a worldwide religious organization, among a few other original ideas. Plus characters from other shows I liked to watch, all long gone now. I gave them all their own story arcs, so as to not interfere with what Oda has written too much."

Volta grinned. "So you essentially wrote a bazillion pages of high-quality _One Piece_ fanfiction. You bloody madman."

"Hahahaha, oh, yes, absolutely!" Tybalt wiped a tear from his eye. "Damian, do you know how important dreams are?"

Volta sighed. "My _goal_ is to survive, and to help others do so." And to eliminate anyone who threatened that goal, but he kept that to himself.

Tybalt shook his head sadly. "If only things were different…I hope you find a passion as strong as mine one day, Damian. A dream you can follow until your last breath. The world isn't gone yet; no not yet."

Volta nodded slowly, hiding his annoyance at the deeply misplaced optimism. What good were his dreams if all means of achieving them had withered away? He applauded Tybalt for managing to make his a reality, but it wouldn't last. It never did.

He carefully put everything back in the pack, almost certain the bright colors and drawings wouldn't survive the month. "For you to give me permission to go through your pack implies a level of trust I don't deserve."

Tybalt shrugged. "You seem like a nice enough fellow. Gracious, is the sky turning yellow?!"

Damian looked upward and gaped at the dull yellow glow that permeated the thick shroud above. A sickly feeling began to well up in his gut, and he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Something horrific loomed.

"What the hell?!" Tybalt pointed at one of the tears in the tarp, where a better view of the outside could be observed. Yellow clouds billowed. The wind began to pick up. A thunderous boom filled the air.

"We need to move," Volta stated firmly. He hoisted the pack and started jogging toward Wax Town, Tybalt right behind him.

They didn't get far when the storm hit. Bolts of lightning burst through the shroud, striking buildings like vipers. A bolt of pure, white fury descended upon the lamp of many colors, igniting it in a blaze of flame. The boxes burst, spewing colorful death, and the cords snapped, dancing as they whipped toward the ground. Volta turned just in time to see them flying toward him and his companion.

Without a moment's hesitation, he pushed Tybalt forward with all the strength he could muster, flinging the great pack from his shoulders toward him in the same movement. The old man grunted as he got knocked further back by his own stuff, the envelope falling from his hands, bottles of ink flying out of his pockets and shattering on the ground. Volta growled, placing the knife back in his teeth as he reached down with both hands to grasp the life's work of the pirate enthusiast, hugging it close to his chest and rolling.

It didn't matter. The cord lashed furiously toward the young man, as if possessed. Its length slammed into the ground, the frayed, sparking end whipping up to hit Volta's knife. The blade lit up crimson as electricity washed over it, burning the teeth that clenched it and melting the surrounding gums and flesh. Volta felt his eyes bulge as his head received a discharge strong enough to toast a small animal, and his body contorted wildly.

A second lightning bolt streaked out of the sky and slammed directly into Volta's chest. Then another, and another, until a dozen blinding blades surrounded the writhing human, flash-frying him until his arms turned black and his grasping fingers crumbled to dust. A final bolt struck right into the center of the envelope, igniting it.

The ink pooling around him began to boil and evaporate under the intense heat, black clouds of vapor enveloping the burning body. An ominous red glow broke through the yellow clouds above.

Then the lightning started to _scream_. Tybalt covered his eyes with his hands, thumbs jammed into his ears. He sobbed a prayer to Mother Mary, his body trembling and cringing, half-expecting the horrible light to consume him next.

And just as suddenly as it began, it stopped.

All was still. The light that shone through Tybalt's hands disappeared, leaving him in comforting darkness. The sound that had nearly burst his aged eardrums had gone silent. Shivering, William opened his eyes.

The surrounding area looked blackened, scorched so badly that little pockets of flame danced on the wind. The light walls had collapsed, cords and pieces of glass burning and melting all across the bridge. The dark clouds above remained, and Tybalt saw that lightning still danced within them. It seemed, to his imaginative and panicked mind, as if the cloudbank was in the process of digestion. Shaking his head, he inspected his pack and found it slightly singed, but its contents unharmed. He winced and reached a hand to his cheek, feeling a cut where a flying shard had sliced it.

Groaning, he rose to his feet, lurching toward the place of impact, and suddenly his wound lost all importance to him. In the center of all this destruction, so great that it had surely alerted all of Wax Town by now, was a single, unblemished envelope.

Well, almost unblemished. A single black raven lay embedded on it, formed out of what Tybalt knew to be the ink that had spilled from the ground.

With trembling hands, the old man picked up the thick, spotless envelope, cleaner than it had been before. He felt tears run down his cheeks. There was a God, and He was good.

But of Volta, no sign remained.

.~===)==============={%}

The cloud hovered above the vast tarp for an hour more, before moving on into the fading light of the evening. It left the city behind it and traveled over the frozen sea, its yellow body pulsating in tune to the beat of its own thunder.

Just as the deadly sun finally disappeared beneath the horizon, the great yellow cloud began to ascend into the heavens, rising higher than any cloud should have been able to. In the blackness of night, it darkened, twisted, and became a vast, glorious raven, flying into the void of space with a cry no human would ever hear.

.~===)==============={%}

The black nothingness of space shone with a million stars. One of them, still the bright yellow it had been millennia ago, illuminated a large blue world, bisected by a band of red.

Upon this world's great sea sat a small green island. Within this island lay a thick patch of forest. And amidst the forest's trees stood a young, tall, _very_ drunk swordsman.

Colors swirled around Zoro. His left and his right seemed to switch every now and then, sending him forward into backwards. The disorientating effects of the South Blue vodka he had consumed eleventy-eleven minutes ago churned through his body like greasy oil in a hot summer's day.

He squinted. Had that chipmunk always been there? It sure as hell hadn't been welding (wielding?) a machine gun welded to its arm.

The squirrel took one look at him and screeched, firing its shotgun at the same time. Zoro dodged effortlessly; he could move at the speed of light after all. Like that monkey, some marine wouldn't shut up about yesterday. The chipmunk jumped right at his face, and he impaled it with ease. The body slid down the length of the blade, it's pink blood foaming out of it like cotton candy. The furry corpse soon followed, puffing and fluffing into the sweet, sticky treat. Zoro didn't eat it. Because it became bark.

Zoro had impaled a tree.

He groaned and sank to his knees. His head throbbed. It sobbed drunken tears. Kuina had sobbed just like it once. Before her death (_has it really been seven years since then?_), before their final duel, she had sobbed quietly to herself, unaware of Zoro's presence. He hadn't understood what there was to cry about then. He knew now.

Zoro threw up onto the tree.

Hey, that's a fun color! Black, the color of Mihawk's sword, if rumor is to be believed. Rumor. Tumor. Humor. Words that rhyme seem so on the dime today…

Zoro passed out.

.~===)==============={%}

When he awoke, the world seems more real to him. A good sign. Then a giant penguin cut through his neck with a butcher's knife, and things went to hell again. So many birds, so little time. The forest floor turned red with their blood.

Two hours of chaos, beaks and heads and flippers everywhere.

Three hours. Things began to die down. The blood disappeared. Why had it lasted so long?

Four hours. Zoro now considered himself sober, which was a shame because he wasn't and wouldn't be for another thirty minutes. Still, he came close enough to stop slashing the trees into thick cylinders of oak. And his sense of direction had returned! What a relief.

He stumbled through the woods and came upon a beach. Sandy and long, with the crystal clear ocean beyond and the wreckage of his excesses behind him. The cool air smacked the half-lucid swordsman and further relaxed his hyperactive senses.

That is until he saw the vampire by his side. At least, Zoro thought it to be one. A sparkly type, if it sleeping in the sun was any indication. Considering his options carefully, Zoro drew Wado, miraculously unblemished after the past thirty-four hours, and walked slowly toward the monster.

"Die, bloodsucker." He stabbed the blade down. Instantly the creature's black tattoos sprang to life and blocked the attack. Vibrations down the length of the sword nearly caused Zoro to drop it, but he instinctively tightened his grip and stepped back, wary. What type of vampire could do that?

The tattoos bled back into the skin, forming intricate flame patterns across the chest and stomach. It took only a second for Zoro to realize that these markings, which he had failed to see previously, also wrapped their way down the arms and the legs, and probably covered the crotch as well, though he couldn't tell through the creature's bleached, torn shorts.

Hesitantly, the swordsman reached out and tapped the vampire. Cold to the touch, but getting warmer, and the tattoos did not attack. Carefully, Zoro rolled him over. More tattoos, flame spirals all gravitating toward a black raven in mid-flight, on the upper center of his back. The blackness of the ink contrasted with the paleness of the skin, only stopping short of the hands, feet, and lower neck.

A thought occurred to Zoro's almost fully sober mind. Could this monster be a man? Zoro opened the mouth and was nearly blinded by the glint. He grunted and covered his eyes, turning the head away from the sun.

Not a single sharp tooth, but they all shone red. As if a ruby had melted on them.

He was human after all, though a strange one. Zoro wondered if he came from a foreign land, cut off from the rest of the world. Like the Wano Country his sensei had always spoken so highly of, but more savage and tribal, a place where the sun didn't shine. A place where tattoos lived.

Was he even still alive?

Zoro checked for a pulse and found one, weak but steady. For a brief moment, the swordsman contemplated CPR. Then he imagined himself kissing the man, and settled for punching his stomach instead.

"Gruh!" a spray of sea water splurted out of him, splashing Zoro's startled face. He grunted and wiped it away.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAHH!" The man screamed, his hands snapping up to his eyes. For a brief moment, Zoro feared he'd tear them out, but instead, he covered them with his fists, his body trembling, wracked with convulsions. The screams went on for over a minute, but just as Zoro prepared to knock him out, he fell limp, his frame sagging in the sand.

Slowly, carefully, his fists fell away, and his eyes, a warm brown that contrasted so heavily with the rest of him, squinted up at the sky. He eyes opened wider and wider. His chapped, pale lips parted and his arms fell limp at his sides.

He stared. For a very, very long time.

Zoro watched, deeply wary, hand on the hilt of Wado Ichimonji.

The lips closed. They fluxed in speech.

"Blau."

Zoro blinked. Blau? Oh_, blue._

"Blau. So blau. Aber nicht glänzen. Schaue ich in den Himmel?"

The swordsman had no idea what he was saying, if it was anything at all. But he recognized the tone of a question, and gave an answer. "Yes."

The man continued to stare, his eyes never shifting, the pupils never dilating. They began to grow wet. Zoro watched, with a feeling of increasing, inexplicable heartache, as the man's eyes overflowed with tears. They poured down the sides of his head and formed thick wet spots in the sand, almost puddles. Snot crept from his nose, and his lips trembled weakly.

He spoke again, and his voice changed. "Whoever you are…unless I'm talking to myself in English...say it again."

"…yes. You are looking at the sky. And it's blue."

Joy. Infinite, deep, overwhelming joy. Zoro looked upon it as it filled the man's face, and suddenly his own eyes were wet. He wiped them, then turned away, as the man began to cry.

.~===)==============={%}

"He should be dead," the Dr. Huno huffed. "I've never heard of someone _swimming_ from one island to another."

Zoro shrugged. "Can't say that's what happened, but it's my best guess."

The poor fellow had conked out soon after his sobs had turned to whimpers and sniffs. After swallowing a few mouthfuls of saltwater (the ultimate soberer, in Zoro's humble opinion), he had hoisted the near-naked man all the way to Lettuce Town, where Saint Carrick's Hospital was stationed.

Dr. Huno's obnoxious attitude aside, the place had fully stocked treatment rooms, complete with extra-large beds equipped with a dozen attachments for cast hanging and stabilizing. The young swordsman wondered if the majority of the town's budget went into this place every month.

"Well, clinically speaking, your friend should be alright given rest and three meals a day, which we're happy to supply for three thousand berries a day."

Zoro blinked. Talk about cheap. How the hell did the place stay open?

"Of course, the stay itself will be ten thousand a day." Dr. Huno adjusted his glasses, pinning Zoro with a condescending expression. "You don't seem to have much cash on you."

"I've got some saved up in a storage locker in town," he said. "I'll pay all the expenses."

Huno nodded. "Very well. If you'll excuse me…"

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Zoro alone with the sleeping stranger. He could get the money later; he slumped into a chair, gazing at the bed's occupant in confusion.

Who was he? Where did he come from, to speak another language? Had he truly swam across the ocean?

Zoro did not know, but he intended to find out. He looked strong, and if he came from a place of strength, Zoro was interested.

He only lasted three minutes waiting for the man to wake up before dozing off himself.

.~===)==============={%}

Hours passed, and the only sounds one could hear in the room were the chirping of birds, and the snoring of sleeping men, peacefully slumbering their way through the early afternoon. Eventually, Volta opened his eyes, before wincing at the light he still wasn't adjusted to.

After a minute or so of rapid blinking, Volta sat up, looking around with a suspicious gaze. Someone was sleeping in the corner, an Asian man who looked a bit younger than himself. His hair was an unusual light green, the sun reflecting off hidden golden strands within. Three swords lay tucked under a green cloth belt of some sort. He didn't look particularly dangerous at the moment, resting as he was.

Volta put one hand on his chin, another on the top of his head, and cracked his neck nosily. The swordsman snorted, alert in an instant. Volta found himself impressed by his reaction time.

"Hey, you're awake," the man stated.

Volta nodded. "Your voice…you're the bloke from the beach. You told me the sky was blue."

The man pointed toward the open window. Sunlight streamed in, the sky just as blue as it had been before. Volta stared intently.

"…have you…never seen a blue sky before?"

"Not in ten years, since I was eight." Volta blinked; he was usually tight-lipped about himself. He turned away from the light, its beauty distracting.

The man nodded as if he understood. Volta suppressed the urge to sneer at him. "Name?"

"Zoro. Roronoa Zoro."

"Damian Volta."

"Heh, not a bad name."

"You as well."

Volta's wheels turned slowly at first. Roronoa Zoro…not a bad name, but an odd one. The man looked Japanese, on closer inspection, but he spoke like an American. Could he be in America? No, that wasn't possible, America had…

* * *

_so he assembles a crew of young adventurers like himself to help him accomplish his dream, such as the Three-Sword Style master Roronoa Zoro, and the cunning, money-loving thief Nami."_

_Roronoa Zoro._

* * *

"Wait."

The wheels, formerly picking up speed, halted, shook, and groaned. Damian's pale skin turned gray. He stared at Zoro's swords, his eyes wide. "Roronoa Zoro… do you happen to know a man named Luffy?"

Zoro shook his head, slightly unnerved. "Can't say that I do."

Volta turned his gaze to the ceiling, as if catching sight of something both wondrous and disturbing. "What year is it?"

"1520." Zoro glanced at a nearby calendar. "Today is May 5th."

A man without Volta's rigorous mental training may not have remembered much of what happened before the horrible lighting strikes, but for the quite _literally_ other-worldly man, everything was clear. Including the timeline he had glanced at. A silly, mad smile broke out on Volta's face.

Zoro took note and slowly stood up. "You alright?"

"…fffffffpahahahahahaPAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

Zoro's hand instinctively went to his sword, the positively _insane_ laughter ringing through the room. Immediately Dr. Huno and his orderlies came rushing in, and he prepared a sedative.

Volta's laughter still vibrated off the walls as the man himself went under.

.~===)==============={%}

Zoro was still there when Volta emerged from unconsciousness again. The sun, on the verge of dipping its bright bottom beneath the horizon, spilled golden light into the room.

It took him very little time to conclude the impossible. "I'm in _One Piece_," he whispered.

Zoro blinked. "What did you say? Did…did you just say One Piece?"

But Volta had already reconsidered his statement. If his working theory was correct, that the lightning had…_fazed_ him in, somehow, then it couldn't have been into the actual story, the one he had pushed away from him. He had picked up the envelope…

"Bloody hell…I'm in the _fanfiction _of the story." Volta's eyes seemed to get wider and wider as he whispered these words, so low Zoro couldn't make them out. "I was holding it when…and I'm here _two years _before the story even starts! Va…vat on earth…"

Zoro felt himself getting nervous. Was Volta insane after all? "Oi," he called out from across the room, his angry tone hiding his trepidation. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

Volta lay stunned, so much so that he didn't comment on the bad language. He remained silent for a minute, trying to think of what to say. His mind was awhirl, all his conceptions of the universe collapsing like a house of cards.

But despite the shock, horror, and confusion he felt, he didn't forget his training. Draining his head of all unnecessary thought, he allowed calm to overcome him, and he directed a level gaze at the swordsman. "I apologize for startling you; in all honesty, I don't know what I'm talking about either."

The swordsman blinked at the abrupt change in tone. "I see…"

Volta sat up, doing his best to not let his emotional turmoil show. "Again, I'm sorry, but I must ask again. Do you know a man by the name of Luffy?"

Zoro frowned. "No."

"Hmm…I knew a man named Luffy once. I'm not sure why I thought you'd know him."

Volta didn't want to lie to this strange, oddly likable swordsman, but who the hell would believe the truth? He had much to think on, that was bloody certain, but first, he needed to extricate himself from the conversation. "Honestly," he continued, "I don't really know much about the world outside of my former home, so you'll have to forgive my ramblings."

Zoro frowned; it was clear to him that Volta wasn't interested in explaining himself. But the swordsman dropped the questioning, intrigued to hear about this man's home. "Where are you from? It must be pretty isolated; I've never heard that language before."

Volta sank into his bed. "I'm from an island called...Austria." He put a hand to his forehead, annoyed by his stumble. Did he really consider Britain his home? "Ah, heard of it?"

"Can't say that I have. Is it to the south of here?"

Volta shook his head. "It's very far away, in a stretch of ocean rarely traveled." His gaze became unfocused, as if he was seeing something beyond the room. "It was a beautiful place. Nowhere else could you find hills so green, or mountains so blue. Water so pure. Cities so clean."

Zoro raised an eyebrow. "Was?"

Volta nodded, his smile fading. "For a time, life was good. But…news of a serious calamity began to tear apart the people there. It came to war. And then the calamity struck."

The bedridden man clenched his blankets, a look of pain warping his features. Zoro wondered if he was reliving a painful memory; if the look in his eyes was any indication, it must have been bad. The swordsman found himself reflecting back on his own most traumatic moment; seeing Kuina's corpse, its face shrouded, the skin already pale and clammy. That day had been…had been…

"The sky," Volta continued, snapping Zoro out of his painful remanence, "became covered with smoke and ash. The war destroyed everything…after a decade of fighting, only a few hundred were left."

"A few _hundred?_" Zoro exclaimed. That was often the population of smaller islands. Just how destructive had this war been?

Volta's eyes grew misty, and his lower lip twitched. "I lost my friends, my home…everything I'd ever known. Everything but my body, my mind, and my bloody dignity_. _And I knew I had to keep those intact."

Zoro understood. "You left."

"You have to understand, we have little contact with outsiders," Volta explained. "Even before the conflict began. Leaving the island was practically unheard of. Our boats were mere fishing vessels, nothing suitable for long-term travel."

Volta turned to look at Zoro, a fire in his eyes. "And I didn't care. I stole a ship and fled as far out to sea as I could. I don't think I would have minded if I had drowned in a tempest; _anything _would have been preferable to that bloody hellhole."

Zoro cracked his knuckles, his gaze intense and empathetic. "I didn't see a boat under your ass when I found you, so I assume you did hit a storm eventually."

Volta sighed. "Language, and you assume correctly. Not sure how I got out of that one alive, honestly. But I must have been carried farther then I thought; I saw no islands on the horizon before the tempest fell upon me." He chuckled to himself. "Must have pulled one hell of a blinder to end up here."

The two were silent for a while, both thinking along the same lines but in different directions. Volta felt relieved that Zoro had bought his story, close to the truth and yet so far. He couldn't even begin to imagine how the man would react if he told him what had really happened.

Zoro very much _didn't_ buy it, not entirely. The raw pain and weariness in Volta's voice, and at such a young age, definitely confirmed his dark story as genuine in its horror, but the account was undetailed, vague in its scope.

It was probably even worse, the swordsman thought grimly. So traumatic he probably didn't want to talk about decided to stop questioning him on his past, lest he provoke a bad reaction.

"Well, you got out," Zoro stated abruptly. "What do you want to do know?"

Volta rubbed the side of his head with his palm. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "I never planned for the future beyond bunking out of there."

"Bunking?"

"A colloquial expression; it means 'escaping quickly' where I'm from."

"What about those tattoos?"

Volta pulled his sheets down, careful to hide his shocked reaction from the swordsman. Where the bloody hell had _those_ come from? He could figure it out later; already, he needed another story. It didn't take much time for him to concoct one.

"I gained them in battle," he stated confidently. "I wasn't always running from the war, only when I realized that it wouldn't end until everyone was dead. The flames are a mark of bravery and strength."

"And the raven on your back?"

Volta didn't even blink. "Speed and cunning."

Zoro nodded. "Have you killed anybody?"

Volta gave him a flat stare. "What do you think?"

"Not condemning you for it; I haven't myself, but that could change soon. I work as a bounty hunter."

"Bounty hunting? Sounds a lot like what I used to do."

"What was that?" It suddenly occurred to Zoro that he was doing exactly what he had promised himself he wouldn't, but Volta seemed unperturbed by the questioning.

"Assassination."

Zoro couldn't help himself, he barked a laugh. "That's pretty fucking different from bounty hunting!"

"Ffffpahahaha, gracious, do you kiss your mum with that mouth?"

The two found themselves laughing uncontrollably for a few seconds, if only to relieve the tension and somberness that had consumed the room.

"Hey," Volta said, his grin returning. "Would you be interested in a partner?"

Zoro blinked, before giving him a contemplative look. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "I'd like to have one, but I don't want my personal growth to suffer. I have a dream, and getting help from someone else might impede on that."

Volta frowned. "What is it?"

The swordsman unsheathed one of his blades, the one with the bright white scabbard. "To become the world's greatest swordsman," he spoke reverently. "Bounty hunting is a good way to make money, but it's ultimately a means of increasing my skill. Some of my bounties have been challenging opponents; and every time I defeat one, I get just a little bit stronger, a little bit closer to achieving my dream."

Volta nodded. "I understand how important goals can be. Long was it my goal to leave my own personal hell behind me." Another lie, and a bitterly ironic one at that; Volta felt adrift, his entire world swept away by what could only be described as a nightmare. How could he get back? Could he get back?

Another thought struck him, one that shocked him to his core; did he _want _to go back? To a place of violence, death, and despair? Where every attempted justice was countered with a dozen atrocities? Where the world had literally died under his shoes?

Volta stared out the window again. This world still thrived; and if the story was as long as the pack content had suggested, it would thrive for years. Perhaps forever, barring another meteor screwing up the sun. And what were the chances of that?

The pale man leaned forward, his eyes suddenly alight. He was free; free from his apocalypse. He thought of Wax Town, and the people he had assisted there. He felt guilty for being so quick to dismiss them, but there were people here he could be of service too. Thousands of people, millions, perhaps _billions._

He could make a difference here. He could have a dream.

"Some of your bounties may be traveling in groups, for added protection. Or have subordinates, like a bandit leader. Better to have some backup if you get surrounded, no?" Volta spoke these words, but his mind was far, far away from them, and Zoro could sense it.

"You've got a point," he stated, then fixed a hard stare on Volta, bringing him back to reality. "But I'll need to test your strength first. I'm not gonna be responsible for dead weight."

Volta smiled. "Understood."

Zoro had little time to react as the seemingly weakened warrior sprang from his covers, grabbing hold to one of the attachments and swinging his body around to slam Zoro with a kick. The swordsman grunted as he blocked with the re-sheathed white blade, the force of the blow still sending him flying out the open window and toward the ground two stories below.

Growling, he twisted in mid-air, landing on his feet without much trouble at all. Volta sailed right after him and slammed his fists into the white scabbard, causing Zoro to slide across the rough, unpaved road leading up to the hospital.

Volta began flexing his arms and legs, cracking the joints cathartically. Zoro whipped out his still sheathed blades, placing the white one in his mouth and the black ones in his hands. Volta raised an eyebrow, before smiling in understanding. "Ah, so _that's _how Three-Sword-Style works."

"You think I just keep a spare on me?" Zoro smiled through clenched teeth, an oddly eerie display. "Come at me if you dare."

Still wearing nothing but his bleached shorts, Volta rushed forward, his body low, his arms thrown back. Zoro swung for the head, level to his chest, but Volta jumped at the last second, pushing off the sword and flipping over the stunned swordsman to deliver a kick to the back. The blow sent Zoro flying again, this time into a tree. Volta stared at his own foot in shock. "The hell…"

"Hah, you're not half bad!" the swordsman shouted, standing up without any noticeable limp or wince. He craned his neck from side to side, and his grin became _predatory. _"My turn."

He was fast, faster than Volta expected, faster then what a human should be capable of. And to his own amazement, he was almost as fast. Zoro rained blow after blow upon him, imagining his blades as mere bamboo shinai, careful to keep them from slipping out of their scabbards. Volta blocked and dodged, his footwork light and jumpy, almost skip-like in its movement.

They danced across the road, back toward the front of the hospital but never too close to the gob-smacked nurses smoking on the front steps. Dr. Huno stared down from a second-story window, paper and pen ready to jot down a bill for damages.

Volta shifted to the offensive. He launched one straight lead after another, precise punches to either wind or force back. Zoro blocked or tanked them with little more than a wince, before retaliating with a stronger blow of his own. More than once Volta had to retreat from a surprise strike from the sword in Zoro's mouth, which he had mistakenly assumed to be too limited in its range of motion to be effective.

Zoro outmatched him, he could see that now. His bladework, seemingly hamstrung by the weight of the scabbards, still flowed and weaved around Volta's own defenses now that the swordsman understood them, striking more blows then Volta could hope to dish out.

"Why...huff huff…aren't you using your tattoos?"

"What?"

_SLAM! _

"Ugh!"

The unusual question threw off Volta's concentration, allowing the swordsman to slam both of his black scabbards into his bare chest. Damian flew across the ground and slammed into the same tree he had knocked Zoro into, splintering a good chunk of its trunk. Many of its golden leaves instantly withered and crumbled, provoking a cry of alarm from the gathering hospital staff.

"You're not using your full power!" Zoro shouted. "You're not letting your tattoos block my strikes like you did on the beach!"

"What are you talking about!?"

Zoro frowned. "Your tattoos can move! Don't you know that!?"

Volta's look of shock answered Zoro's question. "What the hell," the swordsman muttered. "Is it some sort of unconscious ability?" He couldn't help but laugh. "Damn, this guy keeps getting weirder!"

"Hey, are you just gonna stand there!?" Volta exclaimed, slowly getting up out of the shattered tree. Splinters decorated his shoulders and back, some of the wounds already seeping blood. They didn't seem to faze the fighter, who smiled at his opponent.

Zoro's grin was just as vicious. "Why not? Come and get me!"

Volta rushed him again, like a bird bursting from its cage.

.~===)==============={%}

Warriors, those that absorb fighting and make it the center of their lives, often find a true understanding of others through the duel.

Volta was not a 'true warrior' in the same sense that Zoro was, but he had fought enough times in his life to recognize true strength and respect it. Especially strength as great as Zoro's; the man fought with inhuman power and skill.

Strangely, it seemed Volta now did too. Nothing had changed about his fighting style, but his own physical prowess had increased significantly. Enough to shrug off destroying a tree with his back, and to take sword blows without his ribs shattering into dust. Was this the level of power that all strong fighters in this world had?

But it wasn't just strength that made Volta respect Zoro more and more as the hours crept by; it was his honor. He never resorted to cheap tricks or low blows, things Volta unleashed without hesitation or remorse. The man fought like a lion but never struck like a snake.

For Zoro, Volta's cheap tactics annoyed but did not offend; he had expected as much from a self-proclaimed assassin. The reason Zoro found himself respecting his opponent, in turn, was because of his determination. Volta fought like a rat against two cats, unexpectedly vicious and very aggressive. There was little defense; only swift dodges and swifter blows, from hands, feet, and even the head a few times. Zoro's arms bled from a dozen nail cuts, and his right shoulder threatened to fully dislocate after a punishing chop.

Once again, the sun fell under the horizon, and the two fighters, bloodied, bruised, and slightly broken, fell flat on their backs, gasping for air. The pain they felt couldn't wipe the grins off their faces.

"It's…huff…so odd," Volta breathed, struggling to hold his arm out in front of his face. "I feel…huff huff…stronger and faster than I…huff…ever have before."

"Really…huff…in that case, you may be stronger…huff…then me already." Zoro tapped his opponent on the shoulder, right in the center of an especially large flame. "I don't know…huff…what these are…huff…but if you learn to control them…huff huff…you'll be a force to be reckoned with."

"Does that mean…huff…I'm too strong to be…huff…your partner?"

Zoro groaned as he snapped his shoulder completely back into place. "Heh, don't…huff…flatter yourself. Sure, why…huff…the hell not? I could always…huff…use a meat shield."

"Fffpahaha, can't…huff…wait."

The wind blew across the land, chilling their sweat-slick bodies and leaving them shivering on the bloody road. Dr. Huno watched them angrily from the front steps of the hospital, his glasses reflecting the light of the sun.

"…you know…huff…I ever thought…that after what I've been through...huff…I'd make a friend so soon."

"Heh, from partners to friends…huff…huh? We've only…just met."

"I know…huff…and I don't really care."

"…yeah, me neither."

Funnily enough, neither man remembered who exactly said what that day, right before they both passed out from their injuries. All they remembered was a shared feeling of joy, for something they had both lost, they had found again, after years of being without it.

From this unexpected but mutually desired friendship, two journeys would spring.

One journey would take a friend through a hell of metal and blood, wounds and pain, victory and defeat, friends and enemies, glory and humiliation. A journey that would end with a duel that would determine the fate of many, and of one.

The other journey would take a friend through something very different. Something darker then the blackest ink and more blinding then the brightest bolt. Something that soared above the ravens and flew with the eagles.

Something that would bring him into the center of the world.

And into battle with the man who would change it forever.

* * *

**Author's Note**

**And so, it begins. And hopefully ends this time too.**

**I expect to write one of these at the end of every chapter. Mostly to boast about how extraordinarily clever I think I am, but also as a way of showing my appreciation. No author that writes for an audience without thanking them, loving them, teasing them, and occasionally infuriating them writes for very long, in my opinion.**

**And I fear I've done the last two in excess. And in the first chapter too (hmm, maybe I'm not so clever after all)! I apologize if my strange, complicated, meta-soaked first chapter confused the majority of you. And if you all understand it perfectly and are insulted by my apology, well, I apologize for that too.**

**Perhaps I'll explain the story behind the development of this plot one day. As for now, I'll share with you all that London wasn't the original location. It was going to be Chicago, but I had already worked out Volta as Austrian, and I had no real reason for why he'd be in America at the time when the world ended. Why he's in London, well, that too is a story for another day. Please forgive my horrific butchering of the British dialect, I promise I'll do better on that front.**

**Finally, some acknowledgements. Shout out to EXNativo for his superb editing job. The creator of the timeline I used to plan the where of my fic felt there was no need for me to credit him directly, but I strongly urge you all to check out his work at the Library of Ohara. It's no exaggeration to say that his content is the gold standard of One Piece fan-made material.**

**Hopefully, I'll see you next week, on Saturday the 9th, for chapter two. Thank you all for giving this a chance.**

**Yeomanaxel, the Verified Yeo.**


	2. Bowi Arc Part 1

**Chapter 2 – One and Ten Bowi**

Gray light began to drift over the green hills. It seeped through the window into Volta and Zoro's hospital room, giving the former light to write by. The latter still slept deeply, an enormous snot bubble continuously inflating and delating. Damian has been shocked at first, but he quickly learned to ignore it. Hardly the strangest thing he'd seen, and if his very brief flip through the volumes had been any indication, it was only going to get stranger.

He wrote neatly in a small notebook with a feather pen; he had found both in the drawer next to his hospital bed. The German words comforted him as they flowed off the pen's tip, little anchors for his aching heart and battered sanity.

_May 6__th__, 1520_

_I can't believe the date. I can hardly believe my own eyes. How much things have changed in only a day! Have I lost my mind? Am I dying on that bridge, the final seconds of my life playing out in some bizarre dream?_

_I just pinched myself hard enough to bleed, and I don't think so. This is reality now. But how? I've been transported through the lightning, but HOW? People die when they are struck by lightning, not sent into someone's writings!_

_Is there a way back? I'm not sure, unless lightning works the same here as it did on that bridge. But if this is truly reality, and I haven't lost my mind, then I don't really want to go back. This is what Wasabi would have wanted for me; an escape._

_This world is alive. Alive and breathing and warm and soft. I don't have to live in darkness anymore. I can't think of a greater escape then that._

_But I know so little about this world, and about myself. Only that it is a place of pirates, islands, danger, and a man named Monkey E(?) Luffy. That this place isn't quite the right one; it's a fanfic, written by Jason Tybalt, a man I hope is still alive. The original author, Eichoro Oga(?) was his inspiration, I believe._

_How close to the original story did Tybalt write this story? He said it was almost identical, but that could easily be the boasts of pride. Though, he didn't seem particularly prideful when I met him. _

_The final strange piece to this puzzle goes back to the date; I remember the timeline. Two years to tomorrow, that Luffy fellow sets out from his homeland and begins his journey, I think. And I also think Zoro will become a member of his crew. Should I join as well? I already know Zoro; he's agreed to a partnership in his job, which is to hunt down pirates and other criminals._

Volta paused, and reread the last paragraph. A contradiction; if he and Zoro were pirate hunters, how could they join a pirate crew? Would they have to betray the law?

Another thought struck him; could his presence here keep Zoro from joining Luffy on his journey? For a man with no real understanding of the Butterfly Effect, the idea still filled him with a terrible dread. He put an end to that train of thought; his head already hurt too much from trying to process all this, and his wounds from yesterday ached something fierce.

He sighed despondently, closing his notebook. Turning in his hospital bed toward the sleeping green-haired hunter, he tossed his pen like a dart, right into the snot bubble from across the room. With a pop, Zoro awoke, blinking and yawning as he stretched out his arms. "Morning already?"

"Just about," Volta said, his voice strained but friendly. "How are you?"

Zoro pulled back his blanket, revealing a body just as wrapped up as Volta's. "Great," he stated sarcastically.

"Rise and shine!" Dr. Huno chirped from the doorway, startling them both. Has be been waiting for them to arise from the hall? Volta made a note to keep an eye on him.

"Ugh…has our bill increased?" Zoro grunted, his eyes still heavy with sleep.

"Well, considering the damage inflicted on the property grounds, as well as the resources we've used up in our _generous_ retrieval of your unconscious forms, I would have to reply positively to that statement." The smile he gave the duo seemed fit for a loan shark. Or a regular one.

"Alright, out with it," Volta demanded rudely, twisting carefully so as to directly face the good doctor.

Huno placed a piece of paper on Zoro's nightstand. The swordsman rolled his shoulder, cracking it to his satisfaction, before reaching out and grabbing it. A quick skim quickly took the blood from his face. With a scowl, he crumpled the bill and tossed it at Huno. It bounced off his chest.

"Fifteen million berries!" Zoro snarled. "What the hell happened to just ten thousand a night?!"

Dr. Huno merely shrugged, looking even less sympathetic then he had before. "The cost for the bandages and extra treatment wasn't too much more, but that tree you took out in your little…_scuffle…_was imported from the Tamago Kingdom. Twenty different medicines can be created from mixing the ground-up leaves with other substances, and now that you've knocked it down, our supply has run out _far _too early this year."

Volta moved sluggishly to the window near his bed, peering out toward the fallen tree. Few leaves remained, most of them having turned to dust already. "Fragile plant," he remarked.

"Indeed!" Huno harrumphed. "And someone has to pay for it!"

"Well, it ain't gonna be us!" Zoro looked about ready to slice his way out of the sheets and into Huno's chest, his eyes blazing with not-so-righteous fury.

"Wait."

Zoro stopped, turning to glare at his newfound partner. "You can't talk me into this Volta! I'm not paying this bloodsucker!"

Volta raised his hands in a calming gesture. "How much money do you have saved?"

"About three hundred thousand," Zoro growled out. "Pocket change from past bounties mostly, and the funds Sensei gave me two months back when I started out."

"So, it's not a matter of not _wanting _to pay him, but you _can't. _We can't."

The swordsman nodded fiercely. "It's a bit of both really," he snapped, his gaze directed at the doctor. "I've never liked people who demanded much from those they're supposed to be saving."

"A bill's a bill," Dr. Huno said tonelessly. "Pay, or you'll be reported."

Zoro continued to fume, but Volta already had an idea. "Dr., would you accept a replacement tree instead of the money?"

Huno blinked, having not considered that possibility. "I…well…I suppose that would be acceptable. It takes a few weeks for the trunk to grow, but the leaves sprout as fast as they die. Hm, we wouldn't be short on Pilkine for every long then…getting money from you brats would require our own trip to Tamago…travel expenses are…yes, yes, that's actually an _excellent _solution!"

Dr. Huno's demeanor shifted completely, startling Zoro quite a bit. "Very well then, I'll consider all your expenses covered if you bring a tree over from the Tamago Kingdom. I'll give you…let's see…two weeks to get there and back."

Volta nodded, relieved his negotiation had been so smooth and annoyed at the time limit. It reminded him of the fetch quests in the video games Lea had talked him into playing. "How far away is the Tamago Kingdom?"

"Just a few days' travel from here. No need to thank me for my generous time limit." Huno's smug smile looked very punchable right then, but Volta remained passive. "Passenger ships travel from here to there all the time."

"Alright then. Zoro, let's go."

"Right."

To Dr. Huno's shock, both of his patients leapt out of bed and started to dress themselves, tearing off the most encumbering bandages. Volta flinched as the stinging intensified, but he didn't stop, until only his upper body and left leg remained covered.

Zoro went further, removing all the bandages to reveal almost no trace of last night's duel. He slipped into his dark cotton trousers and black worn boots, followed by throwing his stained white shirt over his head and tugging it over his barely bruised physique.

Volta smiled at the white pants and shirt folded into the bottom of his drawer, as if the hospital didn't want him to find it. "Where I come from, they don't give you full outfits," he remarked while pulling the shirt over his bandaged chest. "Just bloody loose gowns that have no back."

Zoro scoffed. "You're kidding. It doesn't cover your ass?"

"An arse is a donkey." Volta slipped the notebook into his back pocket as he said this.

"You're stupidly sensitive."

"I don't like swearing. But to answer your question, yeah, it doesn't."

"Excuse me!" Huno interrupted. "But neither of you is in any condition to-"

"You gave us two weeks," Zoro reminded. "Better get started now and not waste time."

The doctor's mouth, already opening to retort, quickly closed again. Zoro grabbed his swords, and the two headed out the door, down the hall leading to the stairway.

"Wait!" he called out suddenly, causing the two hunters to stop and turn their heads. "You!" he pointed at Volta. "You can't just leave wearing hospital property! It will cost you even more!"

The pale assassin gave him a sly grin. "You said the tree covered _all _the expenses. I'm just taking you at your word. Ah, speaking of which…" Volta ducked back into the room, past the gaping doctor, and swiped the feather pen from the floor. "How much if I take this?"

Now Huno was well and truly purple, shaking with fury. "That's theft!"

"Not if I pay for it with the tree."

"That's…that's not how that works!" The good doctor's voice had gone up a few octaves. Maybe all of them.

Volta just gave him a pat on the back. "Maybe you should watch your language next time, pal. Words have an awful way of being misinterpreted, no?" He tucked the pen in with the notebook, making sure Huno saw them both as he walked from the room.

Or rather, _ran _from the room, dodging thrown hospital equipment and ignoring a string of curses as he did so.

They emerged from the building into a morning just as blue as yesterday's afternoon. They leapt down the steps and onto the road, blood still drying on it from the fight.

"You fucking brats! I'll report this to the Marines! I'll see you rot in the deepest, darkest cell in Impel Down _itself_ for this! Give me back my pen!"

Volta took it out and held it to the light. It really was a nice pen, the feathers flecked with gold and bronze in the sunlight. The mere existence of sunlight to hold a pen up to made Volta want to break into song.

Zoro grinned at the sight. "Oy, do you know what a high-five it?"

Volta nodded. "Not a common gesture where I'm from, but yes, I do."

Zoro raised his hand with a grin. Volta grinned back.

_CLAP!_

.~===)==============={%}

St. Carick's Hospital was situated on a large hill in the center of Retasu Island, first settled in 1458 by an explorer named Leaf Patrickson. He and his crew had been young wealthy aristocrats in a faraway posh kingdom, but their rowdy behavior was declared unbecoming for gentlemen, and when the boys showed no signs of improvement, they were sent packing on a large fishing vessel.

Of course, exile was not enough to douse the spirits of the thirty-odd former nobles, least of all Patrickson. They quickly learned the tricks and trade of the sea from their long-suffering chauffer, a common born fisherman banished for rampant alcoholism and public displays of his sculped chest hair.

Within weeks of their shameful departure, the strange crew had discovered a Devil Fruit, a great rarity in any of the Blues. Specifically, the Navi-Navi Fruit, a power that bestowed perfect navigational ability toward anything the user desired. All Patrickson desired was new lands, and he soon built a reputation for himself and his followers by discovering thirty new islands within the East Blue.

The one he cherished most was the land Volta and Zoro walked upon sixty-two years later, a large bulb of emerald green hills and thick, rich forests. A land he named after the large Retasu plants that grew there.

When his adventuring days were done, Patrickson retired in the settlement he helped construct on Retasu, the city of Lettuce Town. The place reminded Volta of a cabbage field, its buildings round and painted green, topped with little gardens full of vegetables and flowers. Most of the houses were residences, situated in green lawns separated by white picket fences, full of children playing, elders rocking, fathers laughing and mothers chatting.

Volta and Zoro traveled down the road between these rows, attracting the attention of a few small boys, who pointed at the latter's swords with wonder and excitement. Zoro eyed them with amusement and unsheathed the first inch of his white blade. The boys gaped in shock, before shouting out challenges and waving their sticks in the air, declaring themselves the best swordsmen on the island. Of course, there could only be one best, and soon the boys were all beating each other with their makeshift weapons, attracting the ire of their parents.

"You seem to instigate violence wherever you go," Volta remarked dryly.

"Eh, it's not always intentional," Zoro chuckled shamelessly, pointedly ignoring the glares he got from a few baby-hoisting mothers. "More and more kids these days want to be swordsmen. Can't blame them, not when they're hearing tales about people like Mihawk and Shanks."

"World-renowned, I assume?" Volta questioned.

Zoro stopped in his tracks. "When you said you were isolated, you really meant it," he gaped. "Dracule 'Hawk Eyes' Mihawk is the best swordsman in the world, and the man I must beat in order to gain that title for myself."

Volta nodded. "I see. And Shanks is close to his level?"

Zoro nodded. "According to the rumors I've heard, and I've heard quite a few, Shanks used to be the greatest before losing an arm in some sort of accident. Once that happened, Mihawk was able to outduel him and take the title."

"Sounds like you've got a pretty ruthless dream," Volta said. "If you accomplish it, sooner or later someone will probably best you and take it from you."

The swordsman shrugged. "Keeping the title isn't my goal, only obtaining it. If I can be the greatest for only a minute, no, a _second…_" Zoro grinned heartily. "Then that will be enough for me."

"It's about the journey then," Volta deduced. "Not the destination."

"It's a bit of both," Zoro admitted. "I…I made a promise to a friend once. That one of us would be the best." His face became downcast, and his eyes began staring at nothing at all. "She…didn't get a chance to start her own journey."

They walked on in silence for a bit. Then Volta gave Zoro a pat on the back. "I'm sorry man," he said lamely. "I…I'm not sure-"

"It's alright," Zoro said, a bit of his spirit returning. "Dwelling on the past won't get me anywhere closer to the future. Sensei always used to say that."

"Your swordsmaster?"

"That's right," he replied, his grin returning. "Master Koshiro taught me almost everything I know, and the rest I learned on my own. Some of his teachings still don't make total sense to me, but he never gave up on this thick skull of mine." Zoro tapped his head with the butt of his white blade, still smiling nostalgically as he did so.

"Hm. I had a sensei too."

Zoro nodded. "I thought so. Those moves of yours were too calculated to be that of a brawler."

"Jeet Kune Do." Volta answered the unspoken question, throwing a straight lead in front of him. "It was developed by a man named Bruce Lee, though he wasn't the one who trained me."

"Another assassin?" Zoro asked.

"Ffpahaha, occasionally! It's a hybrid form of more traditional martial art styles, influenced by Lee's own fighting philosophy. The emphasis is on fluid motion, light footwork, and explosive attacks that aren't blatantly telegraphed."

Zoro grinned. "I noticed. Ah, we're here."

The 'here' that he referred to happened to be a larger building near the edge of town, right between the neighborhoods and business areas. A large sign hung from a pole pub-style, which read PUBLIC LOCKERS in bright, blue letters.

Zoro ducked inside, followed closely by Volta. The front room was filled with a large bar, behind which stood a man cleaning a silver key, dozens of identical ones hanging from small hooks behind him. A painting of five old men took up the opposing wall, two situated behind a large couch and the other three occupying it. A table with a chess board on it rested in the far corner, several chairs flanking it.

"Heeey, Roronoa!" The man, a tall, pudgy fellow with yellow teeth and a strange symbol on his shirt, leaned over the counter and wrapped up Zoro in a bear hug. "Where you been man? Out hunting more crooks?"

"Something like that" Zoro replied, as he squirmed his way awkwardly out of the embrace with a grin. "Rokka, this is Damian Volta, my new partner."

Volta held out his hand. "Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Rokka."

"Yahyahyahyah, glad to make your, _BURP, _acquaintance, heh, 'cuse me, heheh."

Volta smiled good-naturedly, quickly stepping to just left of the blast radius. "I suppose you run this shop?"

"YAHyahyah," Rokka barked. "Nah, the Government runs these things, I'm just an employee!" He pointed to the blue plus sign on his stainless white shirt, right over his left breast. It had a circle in the middle of it, Volta noted, as well as smaller circles on its ends. The government symbol, no doubt.

Zoro pointed to key 26, the number engraved on the object's back handle. "I need access."

"Sure, sure, ya got two days left, heheh." Rokka tossed him the key, which Zoro caught easily. The back room was full of lockers, metallic things with the symbol embedded on each one.

"Government, huh…" Volta muttered as he watched Zoro unlock the corresponding storage space. "How much do they govern?"

Zoro shrugged. "Almost everything. It's called the World Government for a reason."

Volta felt a chill crawl up his back. Could this be the worldwide religious group Tybalt had admitting to inserting into the story? he thought. That symbol had certainly looked like a cross.

"Are they enforcing any religious doctrines?" he asked bluntly.

The swordsman blinked. "Not…that I know of…you must be thinking of the Order."

"Never heard of them."

"Well shit," Zoro said with a smirk. "I have to explain the whole damn world to you, don't I?"

Volta nodded, scolding Zoro's language again under his breath. "I'll figure out most of it on my own," he said, "But I could use a guide. Don't know much beyond pirates, water, islands, and a big cult."

"Nah, the Order's not a cult. Far as I know. They're more of a…self-employed peacekeeping force."

Volta raised an eyebrow. "Do you actually know or are you just guessing?"

Zoro slammed the locker shut. "Just guessing." In his right hand was a thick bundle of bills, the 'berries' that Volta had heard mentioned, perhaps. Was that what they really called the currency here? Hmm, curiouser and curiouser…

"Alright, here it is, three hundred thousand berries, all in 10Ks." He showed him the cash. A stylized skeleton stared from the right side of the paper, the left side taken up by a large 10000. The currency sign was a B with a hooked slash in it.

"How much is a single berry worth?"

"It's pronounced _beri,_" Zoro corrected, "And pretty much nothing. I've never seen anything cost less than ฿50. A loaf of bread is ฿150. A small sailing vessel can sell for anywhere between three to four million berries."

Volta whistled, a low, impressive sound. "Damn, no wonder you were pissed at the doc".

"I'm honestly still pissed, seeing as we have to go out of our way for that quack. But it still beats giving away all my funds, I suppose."

Volta knocked his fist against Zoro's locker. "What else you got in there?"

Zoro opened it again, revealing three bamboo training swords, three long golden earrings, a box of crackers _(EAT-O YER WHEAT-OS KIDS!)_, and a small pouch full of coins, presumably berries in coin form.

"Emergency money," Zoro said, pointing at the pouch. Then he pointed at the earrings. "Rokka recommended I take those out before I drank anything at _The Root. _Should put them back in now."

"Local pub?"

"Yep." He took out the earrings, carefully placing them in the holes in the lower part of his left ear. Volta hadn't noticed them before.

"Hm, they look good on you."

"Thanks."

Zoro slammed the locker again, and the two walked out. Volta glanced at the bundle. "Money for the ship, plus anything else we may need, I assume?"

"That's right."

As Zoro passed the counter, he slipped a few bills out of his stack and placed them on the on it, stuffing the rest in his oddly thick green belt. "I'm extending the rent," he said. "Can you hold the bokken and my other stuff for two weeks more?"

Rokka bore his ugly teeth in a pleasant smile. "Yahyah, ya got it Roronoa!"

.~===)==============={%}

The walk to the docks was a peaceful, fascinating experience. Volta couldn't help but admire the artistry of the roads and structures, overflowing with greenery and bustling civilians. The city square centered around a large, ornate fountain, depicting a beautiful woman tending to a small patch of cabbages. Water poured from her mouth, falling down into the central plant, which then spit off into small streams that entered a second level of cabbages. Children played around it, startling pigeons and seagulls into the air.

The shabbiness of Wax Town, with its ruined sewer system and makeshift constructions, contrasted so much with the colonial polish of the city. Volta felt a different sting; a sense of guilt. Survivor guilt, he concluded, for the world he had left was doomed. And so were its people. He quickly squashed the thought; now was not the time for such things.

The marketplace hummed with economic activity, but Zoro and Volta ignored it in favor of walking through the town's back street, a shortcut that eventually took them to the docks on the edge of the island. Dozens of sailing vessels sat proudly in the water, some painted bright green and yellow, their sails furled and their crews bustling.

A small tower overlooked the activity, painted blue and slashed diagonally with bits of navy. The word MARINE lay flat against it's top, and a large double-barreled cannon adorned the roof. Tied to the docks lining the tower were three large cruisers and five smaller caravels, their upper hulls painted white and their lower hulls slashed with navy. Warships,Volta realized, and heavily armed ones among them.

"Are the Marines the military force of the World Government?"

Zoro nodded. "Exactly. They're the ones in charge of keeping the seas safe and pirate-free, though they often rely on hunters for additional manpower."

Soon they stood before a large, triple-masted craft with a green hull, adorned with a mermaid under the bow. "All aboard!" a blond man in a white button-up shouted. "All aboard for Tamago Island!"

The hunters paid for their tickets and carefully made their way up the gangplank, sitting cross-legged near the side of the deck. Volta frowned; he had traveled over water before, but always by plane, vehicles he didn't believe existed in this world. He wondered, with a touch of concern, if he would suffer from sea sickness before they reached their destination.

Such concern, he pushed aside, instead focusing on all the activity around him. The passenger ship clearly hadn't been made for such a purpose; there were no seats or areas designed specifically for travelers. Instead, people merely did what Zoro and himself were doing, sitting around the deck, mostly keeping out of the way of the bustling crew, as they hoisted the sails, pulled the pulleys, and lifted up the gangplank.

The town seemed fairly well-off, Volta pondered. Surely, they could afford a more appropriate vessel for travel. This ship looked like a pirate vessel.

"…"

Zoro glanced over at Volta. His expression grew serious. "Do we have a problem?" he whispered.

"Maybe. Does this strike you as the kind of ship used for passengers?"

The swordsman relaxed his shoulders, his serious demeanor fleeing. "Don't worry, I've traveled on this boat before. It just looks like a pirate ship." He pointed toward the aft deck, where a plaque of certification was embedded into the wooden wall.

"Positive?"

Zoro rolled his eyes. "Geez, when did you get so paranoid?"

"In Austria, our transport ships didn't have sails," Volta admitted. "They had…paddles."

"Damn, those are expensive."

Volta shrugged. "Sorry. I'm still not fully used to stuff like this."

"It's fine," Zoro said causally. "Things are different wherever you go. That's what I've learned while traveling."

"How many islands have you been to?"

The green-haired hunter frowned in thought, his hand reaching up to scratch his noggin. "Not sure," he stated honestly. "Probably about a dozen. I lived on Frost Moon Island for much of my life, then traveled to the Organ Islands, which are nearby. From there I went to Mirrorball, and after that a few other places."

"Looking for bounties."

"Yeah, more or less."

Zoro soon found himself recounting a great many things about his travels, from him leaving the dojo to his fateful night at _The Root, _where he had consumed something far beyond his tolerance, leading to that fateful meeting on the beach. The swordsman wondered at his own talkativeness; when had he grown so open? He had even talked briefly about Kuina, something he didn't think he would ever be capable of.

Such openness, he reflected, could only be the work of loneness. And, he suspected, his buried desire to become close to someone again. Someone that he could be genuine with. And so he talked, Volta occasionally asking a question.

"What did you do after you grabbed him?"

"Broke his arm and knocked his teeth in."

"Ffpahaha, you seem to do that to all of your bounties!"

"Shuts them up and keeps them from running. I honestly haven't even needed my swords for the last three or so."

Volta turned around, watching the island continue to shrink behind them. It really was a beautiful place. Dozens of green hills rolled behind the lovely Lettuce Town, one of them crowned with a bright white building that could only be St. Carick's Hospital. Green upon green upon green, a vast clump in a sea of sparkling blue.

It was so beautiful. Volta felt his eyes grow misty.

"You're pretty emotional for an assassin," Zoro commented.

"It was the heartless men and women who died first." Volta turned back, giving Zoro a level look. "You can't be a good killer if you don't save people at the same time. Most of my targets were monsters who deserved their fate."

Zoro nodded, leaning against the railing, his hands behind his head. "Most?" he inquired, eyes lazily following a pack of seagulls.

Volta grimaced. "I…wasn't always the way I am now."

"You weren't always a stealing, smooth-talking bastard?"

"FFFPAHAHAHA!" almost all the passengers swiveled around at that one, looks of surprise and discomfort twisting their faces. Volta started shaking, the tears lining his eyes spilling over.

Zoro grinned and kept watching the seagulls.

.~===)==============={%}

Nothing but ocean. Blue against blue, land out of sight for two hours now. Volta began to get worried again. He tapped his foot anxiously, suddenly more aware of the slight rocking of the ship, and the warm winds that ruffled his jet-black hair. Lunch had been passed out by the crew, fresh trout with a side of buttered bread and grapes. Volta hadn't touched it yet, in contrast to the voracious swordsman next to him.

"I think I'm gonna be sick."

_Gulp _"Seriously? Didn't you need a boat to get off your home island?"

"I'm fairly certain I was running on adrenaline the entire time," Volta growled.

Zoro pointed to the bread. "A bite to eat will help alleviate some of your sea sickness. Also…" He waved down a passing deckhand, a slender fellow who also had blond hair. "Got any ginger ale or peppermint?" The man nodded and hurried to provide the requested consumables, while another deckhand, also with blond hair, walked up with a large bottle in his hands. "Complimentary wine, good sir. It's free."

"Sweet!" Zoro exclaimed, swiping the bottle and pulling out two 10ks. "I'll tip you for that."

Volta blinked. "Hey, you related to the other guy?"

The deckhand froze, locking his blue eyes with Damian. "I…uh…we're brothers."

Volta nodded, before smiling pleasantly. "Just wondering."

As the deckhand ran off, Volta quickly scanned the other crewmembers, his eyes narrowing. He leaned in close to his partner. "Either we've got a set of decuplets serving us hand and foot, or something fishy is going on."

Zoro nodded. "Yeah, I noticed." Ten crewmembers walked around the deck, offering wine to the other passengers, and they looked exactly alike; skin tone, hair color, eye color, even general build, all nearly identical. Their faces shared a bizarre, unsettling beauty, and Volta was suddenly, inexplicably sure that they were all serial killers. The notion passed, but the feeling remained, a deep unnerving that settled into his bones and electrified his nerves.

None of the other passengers seemed the least bit put off by this; most of them were too busy helping themselves to the same wine that Zoro had just received, the few kids enjoying orange juice instead.

"Trap?"

Zoro twisted off the cork, then drank heartily. At least, he appeared to. The wine slid down his chin, not a drop entering his mouth. "Yeah."

He handed over the bottle, and Volta took his own 'drink.' He watched the crewmen carefully, but none looked in their direction. He noticed a few of the older passengers slumped over, their eyelids drooping.

"A typical drug-n-divest situation," Zoro growled. "That's what this is. I should have been paying more attention…now that I really look at them, none of these guys were manning the ship last time I was on it. Thought it was some kind of job rotation crap."

Volta began to slump over himself, making his eyelids droop consciously. "They probably killed the real crew or have them tied up somewhere. Still, it's only the first day of the trip, why the hell are they doing this so early?"

Zoro, pretending to doze off himself, whispered, "It's likely they have their own ship, and it'll swoop in when everyone's good and conked. Bandits make off with everything they can carry, leaving the unskilled passengers listless at sea when they wake up."

"Bastards. There's only so much food. These people will bloody starve!"

"Heh, thought you didn't like bad language."

"Only certain words really."

Soon, all the passengers were out cold, some snoring softly. Zoro and Volta joined in; the former even summoned a snot bubble to make the act more believable, a sight which still mystified his partner.

The 'deckhands' began rummaging through the slumbering civilians, fishing out wallets and coin purses. One did a little dance as he unclasped a shimmering gold necklace from the neck of an old woman, while another carefully removed her very expensive-looking hat.

Another bandit searched the kids' pockets, looking increasing irritated. Volta watched closely as he pulled a little coin purse from the shorts of a boy close to him. He opened it with a growl, then shook it upside-down. "Aw damn…kids ain't got _shit!_" He slapped the kid with his own moneybag, then kicked him in the stomach. Amazingly, the boy didn't stir. Volta hoped with all his might that the bastard searched him next. He had a surprise for him.

Ah, what luck!

The handsome crook crept up to Volta, his eyes widening at the sight of his uncovered arm tattoos. Carefully, the man pulled up his shirt, revealed the intricate, swirling black flame patterns, only partially covered by thick bandages. With a disturbing cry of glee, the creep started ripping them off, exposing more of the ink and opening up a few cuts along Volta's left side. "Hey, Bowi, check this guy out! Dude's a fuckin piece of art!"

"Well, that ain't somethin ya see every day!" Volta almost grinned despite the fresh pain; a second bandit was leaning over him now. _They must think I sleep with my eyes slightly open,_ he thought.

"Hey, how much if we skin him, Bowi?"

"What?! Yer outta yer mind, Bowi! Cash, valuables, and weapons, that's it. We don't have time fo-"

Volta didn't give him a chance to finish. He leapt up with startling speed, closing his hands around their throats and slamming them into the deck so hard it splintered. "Sorry boys," he sneered. "I'd rather keep these."

The other bandits stared in shock, their eyes popping and their jaws dropping unnaturally. Actually, Volta considered, it wasn't that unnatural at all; he had seen stranger faces made in the volumes.

They reached into their white button-up shirts, no doubt to pull out pistols, but Zoro burst into motion, two of his blades out and slashing. A hand fell to the deck, clutching a small derringer awkwardly. The bandit only had a second to take in his own maiming before Zoro sliced his chest open, dropping him in a shower of blood.

Volta smashed his captives into the deck again, knocking them out; he'd be back for them later.

_BANG! BANG! BANG!_

Three shots, all misses. The railing went up in splinters behind Volta, who jumped low and rolled toward them. He had decided to save his surprise, and now he unleashed it; a large scalpel, swiped from Huno's coat pocket as he had patted him on the back. It flew from his hand, taking one of the pretty boys right in the neck.

Before he fell, Volta grabbed his body, using it as a shield. He felt the thud of bullets slamming into it, followed by the clicking of expended guns. He threw the body at the closest enemy, knocking him over, then rushed into a second, slamming his fist into his stomach and then his elbow into his nose.

A third bandit tried to take him in the side with a knife. Volta caught the wrist and broke it, then the jaw, then the rib cage. He fell like a sack of bricks.

He looked around the deck. Zoro had dispatched the four remaining would-be-robbers; they lay bleeding and groaning on the ground.

"That was brutal," the swordsman commented, watching his fallen foes closely while also carrying some of the passengers away from the growing blood pools.

"I don't want them getting up again."

Zoro nodded, finishing up his task. "Damn, these guys didn't wake up through all that? What the hell did those bastards give them?"

"Probably so-"

_BANG!_

"Volta!"

"Agh!" Volta stumbled forward, mentally cursing as a sharp pain exploded in his side. He whipped around, already knowing who had shot him; the bandit he had thrown his shield onto, climbing to his feet with a crazed look in his eyes.

Volta dropped to the ground as the enraged robber fired again, striking one of the slumbering passengers in the arm. The gun clicked, and the pale hunter closed in. He grabbed him by the arms.

_CRUNCH_

_PLOP_

The green-haired swordsman's eye bulged in shock. He quickly averted his gaze and moved to inspect the passenger's wound, looking a bit green. Volta turned toward the casualty as well, wiping his hands on his victim's shirt. Amazingly, the wounded innocent was still asleep.

"Zoro, go below deck and look for bandages. I'll tie up what's left of these guys."

"We…_gulp…_uh, we don't have anything to tie them up with."

Volta blinked. Had Zoro just thrown up a little in his mouth?He poured some of the wine on his hands, the clear liquid removing the rest of the blood. "Sorry about that."

"It's…it's fine. I've just never seen shoulders…_do_ that before." Zoro shook his head. "Right, bandages…" he flung open one of the doors and rushed down, his white blade still out and ready to slash any remaining enemies.

Volta watched him go, feeling a bit guilty. He made a mental note not to perform another Arch-Locker anytime soon; he really _was _much stronger than he had been.

A few minutes of tearing and knotting saw the remaining seven bandits bunched together and bound with their own white button-ups, expertly tied and intertwined for added strength. Some of them were still bleeding profusely. Should Zoro and he bandage them up as well?

Volta mused on this while inspecting the passenger that got hit. It wasn't a direct shot, just a bad graze that had torn through a bit of muscle. The bullet had continued forward into the far wall of the ship's sterncastle, impacting right near the door Zoro had gone through.

Now he inspected his own wound. The bullet had sunk deep into his flesh, and blood seeped around the black tattoo it had hit. Volta winced as he pulled it out, letting it hit the ground along with a fresh bunch of blood drops. It stung like hell but wasn't nearly as bad as it could have been. In fact, it should have been much worse.

_The tattoos, _Volta realized. _They saved me again. But they're not completely bullet proof. I need to be more careful next time._

Zoro rushed back up, a large medkit in his hands. "You were right," he scowled. "Crew's dead. Necks slashed in their hammocks."

"Must not have wanted to waste any of the drug," Volta deduced. He pointed behind him. "Patch up the ones in bad shape. I'll handle the passenger."

Zoro opened the box and tossed out a small roll, as well as a bottle of water. Volta caught both of them and set to work, cleaning the wound and wrapping it tightly with the bandages. "Where I'm from," he commented while he tightened, "we use rubbing alcohol for sanitation. Got any of that?"

"No," the swordsman said. "Just water. But that stuff can harm the tissue; I don't use it for my wounds."

"True enough," Volta agreed. "If it's the only option, I'd use it though."

"Same. Heh, I'm sure you've been in a number of scrapes before, so you'd know." Zoro suddenly paled. "Volta, are you-"

"Just fine," he reassured. "The tattoo absorbed most of the impact."

Zoro nodded, relaxing. Soon he was finished with his own bandaging, though Volta noted his efforts were not particularly effective, only stopping most of the bleeding and not all of it. Then again, the bastards hardly deserved even this treatment.

Volta walked up to the one that seemed the least injured and slapped him across the face. "Gah, you fuckn bast-"

Volta slapped him again. "Keep quiet," he hissed, his eyes promising more pain to come if he wasn't obeyed. The bandit wisely shut his trap, his lower lip quivering in fear.

"I have a few questions, and I'm only saying them once each. For every question you fail to answer to my satisfaction, I'll remove a finger."

Zoro kept his expression stoic, but he could feel the disapproving eyes of his sensei on him. Would he need to stop the former assassin from pulling out his own methods?

"First question. What did you drug everyone with?"

"Drowsy Mushroom extract," the bandit whimpered. "Watered down ta make the effect last only a few hours instead of permanently. We got'em from a dealer from the Line."

Volta nodded in understanding, even though he understood little. What was the Line? He'd ask Zoro later. "Second question. Who's your boss?"

The bandit gulped audibly. "If I tell you-"

"If you _don't _tell me…"

"…his name is Bowi!" the crook exclaimed. "Bowi Albedu. He's the boss."

Zoro suddenly straightened, his stoic demeanor broken. "I know that guy." He pulled a bounty poster out of his belt, unfolding it for Volta to see.

**WANTED**

**DEAD OR ALIVE**

**BOWI "DEADEYE" ALBEDU**

฿ **7,000,000**

**If you encounter this individual, do not attempt to engage unless you are a marine, a World Government employee, or a registered bounty hunter or privateer. If capture is successful, turn into your nearest local Marine or WG facility. Rewards for dead bounties will be reduced; the specific amount varies per area.**

**MARINE**

The titular Albedu looked similar to the many men before Volta and Zoro. Blond and thin, with an eerily handsome face, but his jaw appeared broader, and his eyes had a faraway look. His epithet seemed fully justified.

"It's a good picture," Volta snarked. _So, the colonial era with cameras. Sure, why not?_

Zoro whistled. "He's worth almost half what we owe," he muttered thoughtfully. "And we don't have to give Huno a cent, because he wants a damn tree."

Volta nodded. He turned back to the bandits, his eyes lighting up with understanding. "Albedu uses patsies who look like him in order to confuse potential hunters and the authorities. And I believe I heard some of you call each other Bowi as well. Not a bad plan."

The pale hunter leaned in close, the one conscious Bowi sweating under his gaze. "But," he stated ominously, "the _real_ Bowi isn't here right now. The fact that you still follow his unusual orders away from his presence says an awful lot about how much control he has over you guys, doesn't it?"

Poor fake Bowi started turning white, his eyes misty with water and fear. "He's _terrifying,_" he whispered. "No one disobeys Albedu. He'll be here in a few hours, maybe three at the most. We were supposed ta-"

"Shut up." Volta stroked his chin, carefully thinking over the situation. "Seven million…sounds dangerous. Think we can take him?"

Zoro nodded slowly. "Never faced someone with a bounty that large before," he admitted, "But bounties aren't an indicator of strength, just notoriety. Don Krieg's got the _second_ highest bounty in the East, but he's unquestionably the most dangerous pirate in it."

"I see," Volta said. "Who's number one?"

Zoro shrugged. "No clue. The name wasn't listed in the roster, for some reason."

"What's Krieg's number?"

"Seventeen million."

Volta sat down cross-legged. He tapped his fingers on the deck, humming a bit to himself. "Alright…Zoro, is there any way to contact the Marines?"

"There's a sleeping transponder snail below deck," Zoro responded. "Bet you don't know what that is either, right?"

"That's right."

Fake Bowi squinted. "Ya don't know what a _snail transpond-" _

_CRACK!_

A chop to the neck sent him back into unconsciousness, Volta scowling as he rubbed his hand. "We should call in a ship of them and set a trap for Albedu."

"If we do that," Zoro said, "We only get a quarter of the bounty; it's called an 'assistance pay,' in this case only two million."

"One million, seven hundred and fifty thousand," Volta corrected. "You're right, that's not much at all."

Zoro unsheathed an inch of one of his blades, his smile daring. "We can take him," he stated confidently.

"Eager to test your skills against a new challenge?"

"Yes." Zoro re-sheathed his blade and tapped the hilt. "You know; you haven't been registered by the WG yet."

"Is that a problem?'

Zoro shook his head. "If anything, it's an advantage. Criminals often keep track of who's after them as rigorously as the hunters track the criminals. In the first month of my journey, no one I caught or killed knew who I was; by the second, damn near all of them did."

Volta frowned. "Word travels fast."

"And actions speak for themselves," Zoro stated plainly. "I've never let a bounty escape, and I've gained a reputation. Albedu knows of me, but not of you."

"So, you want to face him head-on, wear him down, then have me surprise him and finish the job."

The swordsman folded his arms with a frown. "Sounds like you don't trust _me_ to finish the job."

"I trust you," Volta quickly amended. "But there's always a chance you could get overwhelmed."

Zoro pursed his lips. "Fair enough. But don't strike unless I'm in real trouble; like I said, I don't want my personal growth to suffer from lack of individual effort."

Volta nodded, slightly annoyed but understanding. He walked across the bloodstained deck and picked up one of the derringers by its barrel, shaking off the dripping hand connected to it. He loaded it and slipped it into his waistband. "I'm not bad with a gun; I'll get him in the back if need be."

"Alright. What should we do with these guys?"

Volta gave them a hard stare. Some stared back lifelessly. "You did a bloody job bandaging them, that's for sure."

.~===)==============={%}

Two hours passed. The five remaining bandits, their dead comrades tossed into the sea, all watched wordlessly as a small ship began to sail onto the horizon. It grew bigger and bigger, but not too much bigger; bandits rarely took to the sea, and pirate ships had far more flair then this simple but practical vessel.

Its white sails unadorned, its hull striped red, it expertly swerved into position alongside the larger passenger ship. Its rigging was thick and complex near the back, so that a single person could expertly pilot it. That person now slowly made his way up the steps of his gangplank, until he reached the top and jumped onto the deck, now empty of passengers but covered in blood.

He stared at his patsies.

They stared back.

"…what the hell is going on here?"

"Good question." Zoro emerged from the shadowed hall inside the aft castle, all three swords out and shining. "Is this a good answer?"

"…it is."

Bowi "Deadeye" Albedu stood at an approximate six feet tall. He wore a blue button-up of much finer quality then what his minions had, long khakis, and a pair of black, knee-high boots, adorned with silver spurs that seemed a tad too sharp to be mere decorations. His hair was a wavy blond, his jaw thick, his frame thin but solid. And his eyes had as much emotion in them as the glassy pupils of a long-dead snake.

None of these things mattered to Zoro. He saw only the sword.

It was a magnificent cup-hilt rapier. Zoro had handled swords long enough to recognize true artisanship when he saw it, and his opponent's certainly qualified. The hilt seemed formed from blackwood and rayskin, wrapped with silver wire and topped with a stainless-steel pommel that sparkled in the sun. A silver rope connected to the hilt ended in a small, glimmering pearl.

The beauty of the blade was marred, in Zoro's opinion, by the scabbard it rested in, embedded with silver and unusually thick. Zoro furrowed his brow at the kojiri, or scabbard tip, at the end of it, a bulky block that seemed lined with _gears _of all things. Such an unusual piece wouldn't affect the blade in combat at all, he considered. But it would be a pain to carry around. And furthermore, kojiri only tipped katana scabbards, not rapier ones. It was a bizarre design altogether.

Albedu, his left hand firmly clutched around the middle of the strange scabbard, placed his right around the handle and began to unsheathe, slowly and menacingly. His five remaining patsies began to shake in unison, all crying silent tears, and some wetting bloody pants.

Zoro readied his stance, feet wide apart and eyes locked forward. He crossed his arms…and _leaped._

"ONI GIRI!"

_CLAAANG!_

The Three-Sword Style master felt his three blades slam into the edge of the rapier. He hated to destroy such a beautiful sword, but nothing would stand in the way of his victory. He pushed with all his might…and failed, merely knocking Albedu back but not even chipping the stunningly bright blade.

Zoro had no time to marvel at his first unsuccessful Oni Giri, for Albedu darted forward with startling speed, his mouth twisted into a shouting smile. "HORA HORA HORA HORA HORA!"

With every cry, the blade thrusted, barely dodged or deflected by Zoro's quick katanas. The once confident swordsman found himself pushed back across the deck, barely keeping his defense together against just a vicious onslaught. It appeared to Zoro's eyes as if the blade had turned into light, flashing and blinding with every retraction and extension.

"HORA HORA HORA HORA HORA HORAAA!" The blade struck flesh, slicing through the skin over Zoro's bicep and barely missing the taunt muscle beneath. The sudden pain only heightened the hunter's frustration, but he refused to break under the pressure. As his muscles burned and his feet danced around the deck, he steadied his breathing, calming his mind. He fumbled for the inner peace of true combat and found it just as Albedu cut his left leg.

With a delicate turn of the hips, Zoro sidestepped the blade completely, nanoseconds before it could pierce his stomach, and twisted his neck to slash Albedu's own using Wado Ichimonji. The blond swordsman saw it coming and tried to sidestep himself, but his overextended form hampered his dexterity, and he took a deep slash across his deltoid. A growl tore free from his throat.

The two circled each other, blades dripping, eyes locked. The five shaking spectators seemed in awe of the duel. Volta remained patient, hiding behind a rather conspicuous barrel.

"That sword," Zoro breathed. "Could it be one of the Meito?"

"Indeed," Albedu stated confidently. "It's the same grade as that beautiful white blade you're so inelegantly chomping on. Wado Ichimonji?"

"That's right," Zoro responded. "And damn proud of it."

Albedu leered, his stance shifting into something Zoro recognized. "If I kill you, the blade is mine."

"That's also right." And the two clashed again.

"HORA HORA HORA HORA HORA!"

_I'm getting sick of that word, _Zoro thought angrily, as he dodged another round of thrusts. This time he responded blow for blow, matching the ferocity of Bowi's fencing with his own powerful slashes.

The fight intensified, sparks flying, metal ringing. Zoro pushed harder and harder, forcing Albedu on the defensive. A slice to the other shoulder, a blow to the arm, the leg, the side. Albedu's eyes weren't looking so dead anymore; now they lit up with pain and rage.

Through all of this, Zoro and Volta noted something about Albedu; he hadn't dropped his scabbard. His sword only needed one hand, but he made no attempt to block or deflect using the sword holder in the other.

What's more, as his defense crumbled and Zoro cut him again and again, his grip on the scabbard loosened, letting his hand slide down its length until it clasped around the strange block.

_Click_

Bowi grinned wildly as he launched another barrage of thrusts. Zoro blocked them all… and found himself staring into a black tunnel.

_BANG!_

A bullet impacted the back of Bowi's shoulder, throwing off his aim. His fingers twitched.

_**BANG!**_

The sound rattled Zoro's ears, and he felt a horrible tearing sensation in his right side. A scream sounded from behind him. Bowi clutched his shoulder, a look of shock plastered on his face as he turned to stare at the surprise attacker.

Volta put a bullet between his eyes.

.~===)==============={%}

_Buda Buda Buda, Buda Buda Buda, Bu-CLICK _"Hello, Warrant Officer Kyla speaking...yes, I understand…uh huh…woah, slow down chief, don't…_what?! _How the hell did you…oh….I see….alright, we'll be there in an hour…yes, we'll have the money." _CLICK_

"Captain, we need a cruiser deployed to sea zone 34! There's been a drug-n-divest on a passenger boat out from Lettuce Town!"

"WHAAT!"

.~===)==============={%}

The passenger ship appeared listless within Kyla's telescope. She frowned worriedly, before urging her crew to get the ship moving faster.

Soon her standard-issue Marine battlecruiser was alongside the vessel, opposite Bowi's personal craft. Half her battalion, twenty-five uniformed Marine seamen, set down two planks and crossed single-file, their hands tight on their rifles, cutlasses gleaming at their sides. Kyla would have admired their disciplined behavior, if she wasn't busy staring at the two hunters who had apparently done their work for them.

Roronoa Zoro lay perched on the far railing, his eyes scanning the spread-out Marines with an uninterested glance. He didn't wear a shirt, exposing...an _impressive_ set of well-toned muscles, Kyla thought to herself, and only partially hidden by thick bandages all over the left side. His arms glistened with sweat, which made them almost glow in the-

She grimaced, shaking her head and focusing on his partner, the one who had called her. He too was undressed from the waist up, and while in similarly good shape, his pale skin and intricate tattoos offset any sexiness he may have-

"Seaman First Class Greenen!" she screamed, turning her body a full ninety degrees away from the two hunters. "Report!"

"Below deck, sir!" Seaman Recruit Bluyo responded, saluting rigidly.

Greenen emerged just seconds later, along with three other soldiers. "All passengers accounted for, all crew members dead," he barked. "One wounded in the left arm, already treated. All unconscious."

"They won't be for much longer," the pale hunter stated plainly. "I'd tell you to ask the bastards that drugged them, but…well…"

He pointed to his left, and what Kyla saw sickened her. Five dead men lay tied up, seemingly by their own very bloody shirts. A large, disturbingly _perfect_ hole had been blown through their bodies, at least a foot in diameter, creating a vast blood splatter that fanned out behind them. The agony they must have felt was clearly readable in their identical expressions. Already, several of Kyla's men started becoming violently sick over the railing, into the sea below.

"What the hell…what _caused_ that?" The high-ranked infantry leader squeaked, much to her embarrassment.

"This," the pale hunter said, patting the hilt of a rapier leaning against his leg. Its scabbard was strangely enlarged near the bottom. "This thing's got a _shotgun_ buried in it. Launches bullet designed to spin and accumulate air circulation behind it as it flies, so when it punches its way through someone the air pressure widens the hole and smooths out its edges." He smiled appraisingly at the deadly weapon. "It's a nasty piece of work, even taking the sword out of the equation."

Kyla spun around toward him, arms crossed and eyes glaring. "That's Marine property now," she stated in a commanding tone.

The hunter raised an eyebrow. "What's your rank?"

Kyla felt her left eye twitch. "Warrant Officer."

"At _fourteen?_"

Dead, silence. The soldiers began to slowly back away, some of them looking haunted. Even Zoro quickly hopped off the railing and darted toward the suddenly far more interesting gore pile.

The hunter tried to say something else, but it was lost forever as a small, feminine fist buried itself deep into his gut, forcing a generous glob of blood out of his mouth and dropping him like a sack of potatoes.

"I'm _fifteen,_ asshat," Kyla snarled. "And I'll have you incarcerated for disorderly conduct if you don't hand over that weapon."

"Language…"

"What was that?"

"Name's not…what you said," the hunter whispered as he slowly got to his feet. "Name's Damian Volta."

Kyla's eyes narrowed. "Don't recognize it. Are you registered?"

Volta smiled genially. "No. Do you happen to have the paperwork on your ship?"

Now bother her eyes were twitching. "No."

Volta blinked. "Really? Bloody shame. I thought you Marines were ready for anything, including random civilians taking out bandits for you."

Kyla could practically _taste _the impact her fist made with his cheek, sending him flying into three sets of steadying arms. She picked up the heavy weapon without difficulty, frowning at how imbalanced it felt in her hand. She pulled the blade out carefully; nothing wrong with it, just the scabbard.

"Hm…I see…this does look like a firing mechanism," she mumbled to herself, studying the crisscrossing gears lining the kojiri. "An interesting weapon indeed. Greenen, place it in the hold! Carry with extreme caution!"

One of the soldiers who broke Volta's flight began to move forward, but the pale hunter grabbed his shoulder, pulling himself up and glaring directly at Kyla. "I don't want to fight over this," he stated fiercely. "But Zoro killed Bowi, so the blade is his. According to the Meito system, the blade of the fallen goes to the victor in a proper duel."

The Warrant Officer glared at him. "Seaman Recruit Redine, is this true?"

The Marine nodded. Zoro noticed that, in place of a cutlass, a katana rested at his side, not a Meito but of good quality. "That is correct, sir. While you have authority to take the blade into Marine custody, by the Meito System, if this man has won the duel, it is his, sir."

"Alright," Kyla said. "But why did _you _have it?" She pointed at Volta.

"Because I gave it to him," Zoro answered. "I have all the swords I need, and he's interested in learning a thing or too." This was a lie, but it might become a truth; Volta didn't really know what to do with the sword yet. Either he could sell it, or claim it as his own, but to become a swordsman, on top of trying to navigate this world, would be a challenge.

Zoro reached down and picked up a bloody bag, handing it to Greenen. "That's Albedu's head. Volta shot him between the eyes after I defeated him, just to be sure he's dead."

Kyla could feel the omelet she had eaten earlier today threaten to eject itself. She took a deep breath, trying to exhale all the anger and nausea she felt regarding the situation. "Alright," she said. "Redine, get the money! Everyone else, load up the passengers!" She tossed the sword back at Volta, hoping it would knock him in the head. It didn't. "As soon as this ship is abandoned, prepare the cannons! I want this travesty sunk!"

"Sir yes sir!"

.~===)==============={%}

_BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!_

Volta watched as the passenger ship went up in splinters, taking its bloody bodies to the bottom.

"Warrant Officer Rangala Kyla," he repeated, as he finished buttoning Bowi's shirt. He had taken the liberty of stripping his corpse; his clothes were quite comfortable, especially the boots.

"Yep," Zoro said. "Second-in-command of this sea zone. Her father is the captain."

Volta waved his hands in front of his nostrils. "Hmm, do you smell it Zoro? The nepotism is thick in the air today."

"HAHAHAHAHA!" The green-haired hunter fell off the side of Bowi's commandeered ship, splashing into the water head first. He was still laughing as Volta pulled him back up.

"She's young, but trust me, she earned her rank," Zoro managed to wheeze out. "Very strong; I'm not confident I would win if it came to blows between us."

"You make it sound like you know her."

Zoro shrugged. "I worked with her and a few other hunters once in a drug bust. Damn near beat the boss into pudding, and the guy was four times her height." He shook like a wet dog, only succeeding in getting drops of water all over the place. "But as you noticed, she's a bit temperamental; I'm pretty sure she would have arrested you if I hadn't been there."

Volta smiled. "Well, she didn't deduct our reward one cent for turning in a corpse. Very appreciated."

"I may have had a hand in that," Zoro stated. "She was too busy bashing that drug lord to notice one of his stooges behind her with a pistol, but I took care of it. Never thanked me, but this may have been her way of making us even."

"Hmm." Volta patted the small chest one of the Marines had tossed at him, heavy with stacks of bills. A stylized, headless seagull lay embedded in the wood. "I like the Marine symbol; eye-catching and unmistakable."

"It's nice I guess."

The two remained quiet for a time, Volta steering the boat awkwardly in the gently rolling waves. He had no idea what he was doing, but most of the rigging was already fixed in place around him; all he had to do was figure out which lines did what.

The seemingly endless water sparkled under a bright blue sky, but this time Volta didn't care much for the view. He felt exposed; nothing to hide behind or take shelter in. Zoro's presence was reassuring, but his own clumsy navigation threatened his safety, and he knew it.

Still, Volta persisted. He refused to give into nerves; never had before, wouldn't start now. It wasn't like there were any major threats around, so he could relax a bit in that respect.

But as the minutes became hours, and the scenery didn't change one iota around him, Volta felt his relaxation slip into a state of boredom. He fastened the wheel with rope and unsheathed the rapier, admiring its sharp tip. Maybe he would keep the sword, and learn to wield it, as well as its-

_Buda Buda Buda_

Startled, he jerked around, trying to pinpoint the source of the noise, his left leg knocking against the scabbard. It slid against the side of the hull and thudded into the deck.

_Click_

Volta gaped. "Oh, bloo-"

_**BANG!**_

Ducking just in the nick of time, Volta avoided shrapnel damage. The steering wheel exploded into splinters, the bullet flying over the waves, tearing them up as it went.

Zoro awoke to a shower of splinters. "Gah, we under attack?!" His hands snapped to his blades. He looked around wildly.

"…what the fuck did you do to the wheel, man?"

Volta took a deep breath. "Language."

_Buda Buda Buda, Buda Buda Buda_

Zoro stared at him, then at the transponder hidden in the cabinet. He stared at Volta again. "I'm going to answer this," he said calmly. "Then I'm going to kill you."

Volta didn't like the sound of that. Acting on impulse, he darted forward, throwing open the cabinet before Zoro could reach for it and grabbing the transponder mic.

_CLICK _"Hello?"

Zoro blinked. The tattooed hunter had disguised his voice surprisingly well, deepening it to Bowi's gruff baritone.

A hundred miles away, in a floating restaurant, a swirly-browed chef felt his neck hairs tingle.

"_Oy, brother, where the hell are you? You should be back by now."_

Volta's eyes widened. "Uh, yeah, got held up by some hunters. Caught us by surprise." As he spoke, Zoro fished around in his green belt, _somehow _pulling out a very thick wad of posters.

"_Sigh…oooy, brother, ya really should be more careful these days. Why don't ya bring twenty Bowis next time? Say, ya didn't lose any, didja?"_

Zoro threw down the posters and started spreading them out, while Volta continued, "Nah, but, the…uh…my boat's busted. One of the guys accidently ripped out the steering wheel." Zoro glared at his partner, who merely grinned sheepishly.

"_WAT?! Ya gotta be kidding me, hell he do that?! Damnit, I thought I told ya to repair that old thing before taking it out again!"_

"Didn't have time boss," Volta continued, for that had to be what this 'brother' actually was. "But it's not all bad; I'm sure we can still get it fixed. Still floating."

"…_ya don't sound well Bowi. Been drinken from the STOCK again?"_

"Hehe, ya caught me…" Volta whispered hoarsely. Zoro began to speak a silent prayer, despite claiming to be agnostic just this morning.

"_Hehee, hehee, heHIC, BURP, that's what I thought. Oh you." _Volta got the impression this 'brother' was shaking his finger at him, if the way one of those stalks was twitching was any indication. Seriously, what the _hell _was wrong with these creatures? Did they not have minds of their own?

"_Sigh…brother, need me ta send out a party for ya? I can't have ya bringin in some big old boat with a buncha sleepin kittens and slashed-up scallywags in it."_

Volta's eyes lit up, but he kept his voice deep and submissive. "Ah boss, I'm sorry, I _promise, _this won't happen again. The boys and us are still on my vessel around sea zone 34; got blown by the wind a bit. I promise, with all my heart-"

"_Alright, alright, I gotcha. Gee gallyins, it _better _not happen again, or ya'll never see the STOCK again, ya fuck."_

Volta made his voice sound desperate; Zoro found himself more and more impressed. "NO, ah, I mean, I understand boss, gotta go, boss, see ya soon boss!"

_I ain't comin myself ya fu-" CLICK_

Volta breathed a sigh of relief.

"Damn…" Zoro gaped at the poster in his hands. "How the _hell _did I forget about Bowi _Albedya_, worth 14 million five hundred thousand?!"

Volta shook his head. "Must have been some bender if it's still screwing with you now. I'm a bit surprised he's an actual brother."

Zoro shook his head. "This Bowi Family is weird, but I doubt it's a blood family."

"We're gonna have a blood _feud _on our hands the moment Albedya realizes we offed his best guy and sold his head for half his own bounty."

Zoro nodded listlessly. "Damnit, how the hell did I get myself into this mess?"

Volta felt a pang of guilt, and suddenly his situation came flooding back to the forefront of his mind. It had been his crazy bargain with Huno that had launched them into conflict with the Bowi Family; Zoro would probably be somewhere else right now if not for him, either drinking or fighting or doing what he should be doing, instead of this.

_This is all before the story even begins, _Volta thought. _It doesn't matter, so long as Zoro is where he needs to be when Luffy sets out to sea and meets him. _

But that re-raised the big question; what about _himself? _They were partners now; he'd be where Zoro was when Luffy found him. Unless he had already affected things enough that Zoro now _wouldn't _go to wherever he needed to go to…but that was two years off still…

"OY!"

Volta blinked. "Sorry," he said slowly. "Lost in thought."

"Not the only thing that's lost," Zoro said gruffly. "Don't know about you, but we've got a rather large problem on our hands."

Volta grimaced. "Yeah, no Bowi, no fake Bowis; just a couple of weirdos in a broken boat."

Zoro grinned. "Exactly," he stated, with a hint of mocking. "Don't know about you, but I have no idea how we're gonna fake a whole troop of people being aboard this wreck. Got any ideas?"

Volta sighed, running his hands through his hair. How _was _he going to get them out of this?For a few minutes, he calmed himself by pacing the length of the deck. His eyes seeing nothing, his feet moving mechanically, mind formulating.

_There's thankfully little room for assumption when it comes to this boss; he clearly doesn't have any big ships or wants them in his fleet, so we'll probably be 'rescued' by another vessel this size; small, but maneuverable and roomy enough for a troop of cutthroats. They'll definitely scope us out from afar first using a telescope…did I just make a pun? Regardless, we have to make them believe we're eleven people, not two, and all blond and reasonably attractive. I'm already wearing Albedu's clothes, so that helps, but what am I gonna do about the others…_

A sudden flash of inspiration came to mind. Volta rummaged through the cabinet, moving the snail out of the way and pulling out everything else inside. He hit gold; extra clothing, and lots of it, as well as a good amount of hair dye. He grinned triumphantly, before cackling with glee. "FFFPHAHAHAHAHA, of _course_ they couldn't all really be blond!"

Zoro sighed and stood up, his frustration fading and a confident grin back on his face. "Got a plan?"

"It's a long-shot, a gamble really," Volta admitted. Then he grinned again, and for a brief moment, the green-haired swordsman swore he saw the tattoos swirl across his skin. "But it's the best I've got. Listen closely."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**I'm deeply grateful for all the support I've gotten thus far. Spread the word far and wide if you think this fic deserves more views.**

**Rangala Kyla takes her name from the Filipino R&B singer and songwriter, Melanie "Kyla" Alvarez. And as for the Bowi Family...well, let's just say that out of all the anime in this world, JoJo is the closest to my heart, so expect a lot of shout-outs and similar naming patterns.**

**See y'all next week! I posted a little earlier, and I may do that again in the future. Next chapter drops the 15th or 16th of March.**

**Yeomanaxel, the Verified Yeo.**


	3. Bowi Arc Part 2

**Chapter 3 – One and Hundred Bowi**

Evening descended, the moon almost as bright as the sun. Volta had no trouble seeing in the dark, as he carefully assessed all the stuff from Bowi's cabinet.

Three bottles of blond hair dye, many extra pairs of clothing, and an assortment of miscellaneous knickknacks and navigating tools, the most useful of which was a small, silver compass with a cracked lens. It still worked perfectly, pointing to true north, though it still didn't give Volta much idea where the next island lay.

"I hope this works," Zoro whispered, adorned in a fake Bowi uniform and brushing his now yellow hair. "There's still only two of us, and your decois won't convince them once they get right next to us."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Volta snarked good-naturedly, too excited over his deception to be annoied at Zoro's faithlessness.

Nine dummies, wooden beams and bits of flotsam really, lined the railing of the vessel, all of them stuffed into the extra clothing. Albedu had been fastidious; each of his men had had an extra uniform. All the extra hair dye had been dumped onto the 'heads.' From a very far distance, it would appear as if a group of identically dressed men were lounging around the torn-up craft, instead of being a part of it themselves.

"There's always a chance they'll hold off on coming to get us until dawn," Volta admitted. "In which case we would be in trouble. I suppose it depends on what kind of boss this Bowi Albedya is."

"Didn't sound like the compassionate sort." Zoro sighed. He rubbed his temples. "You should have been more careful with the rapier. That never would have happened if _I _had been navigating."

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Volta's danger sense, sharpened after years of living in a city full of potential murderers and mutants, roared in his ears, like a lion right by his side. His whole body threatened to clench up and spring right off the side of the boat.

He gulped, and whispered, "…it's fine. I'm sure I'm do better next time."

The swordsman groaned and sagged to the ground, on the verge of sleeping off his frustration. But he got up just a few minutes later; at least one of the Bowis had to appear alive.

The moon got brighter as it climbed higher into the sky, to the point that Volta feared his ruse would be found out immediately should a telescope spot him. When a dark shape began to appear over the horizon, Volta felt his brow grow damp. The shape grew closer. Using his own telescope, it's lenses also cracked, he recognized the design of the craft as being identical to the one he was in; it was indeed the rescue party.

With the help of the moon, Volta could discern five figures in the craft, working the lines in order to get the most out of the sparse wind blowing at the moment. He couldn't make out their faces, but he had the distinct feeling they would all look the same.

Where the hell had the Bowi Family found so many look-alikes? Even with hair dye, it seemed inconceivable that this many people would look so similar. Volta shrugged off the thought; if the main character could blow up into a balloon, as he had in one of those _strange _comic book panels, he supposed anything was possible. He silently hoped things wouldn't get any weirder from here on out.

The ship grew closer, and one of the five bandits aboard pulled something small out of his shirt. It began to glow rapidly, on and off. A lighter, Volta realized, for signaling to each other.

He searched the cabinet for a few seconds, pulling out a small silver lighter that must be identical to the one they had. _They're more organized then I originally assumed, _Volta thought ominously. _We may have stumbled into the path of a small but dangerous crime family._

Volta began working the lighter, more than a little relieved that it was simply Morse Code in visual form. .-. . .-. . .- - .-. . .-. . .- - .-. . .-. . .- - (repeat repeat repeat)

.- .-.. -... . -.. ..- / .. ... / - ... .- - / -.- - ..- .-.-.- (albedu is that you)

-.- . ... / ... . .-.. .-. / .-. . -.- ..- .. .-. . -.. (yes help required)

-. - - / . -. - ..- -. ... / .-. - - - (not enough room)

.- . .-. .-.. .-.. / - .- .-.. -.- / .- -... - ..- - / .. – (we'll talk about it)

No more messages were lit; the boat grew closer. Volta crouched down, grabbing hold of the two derringers he had swiped before the passenger ship had gone down. He handed one to Zoro. "If you go in swinging, you might cut an important rope, and we'll be back at square one."

The swordsman stared at the gun with annoyance but nodded without another word.

Soon the ship was in good seeing distance. The five men were indeed five more fake Bowi's, but they seemed older, heftier. Patsies of Albedya, not Albedu.

The ship got even closer.

"Oi ya bums, gettup and greet yer superiors!"

"Albedu, where are ya?"

"What the…what!? WHAAAT?!"

The cover was blown.

Zoro and Volta whipped out their derringers and fired in unison, targets visible and within range.

_BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!_

Each derringer carried only two shots. Six rang out; four from the hunters, two from the bandits. Volta felt his heart leap into his throat as one of the bullets zipped past his ear, slapping it with a gust of wind. The other shot hit the mast in a shower of splinters.

Three bandits went down; two headshots and a hit to the leg. One of the fatalities was the shooter, but at that point the other bandits had their guns out. Zoro and Volta ran for cover as a new wave of bullets flew through the air. Several of the dummies shook, snapped, and fell over the side.

"WE'VE BEEN COMPROMISED! GET THE BOSS ON THE SNAIL!"

Volta wasn't about to let that happen. Hiding behind the cabinet, he saw one of the remaining bandits make a beeline for the same spot on his boat. Volta threw his gun at him from across the ocean. It bounced off the side of the hull.

With a growl, the tattooed hunter rolled and grabbed one of the dummies, composed of a shirt, a pair of pants, and half an oar. He ripped the clothing off and threw it javelin-style, with as much strength as he could muster. It sailed true and punctured the hull, entering the cabinet. Volta held his breath; had it managed to kill the snail inside?

"DAMMIT!"

Yes!

"I'M EMPTY! SOMEONE GET ME ANOTHER ROUND!"

Zoro unsheathed two blades and sprung from the railing, leaping the short stretch of water between the boats. By sheer dumb luck, he happened to land right on the leg he had shot.

_CRUNCH_

"…AAAAAAAGH!"

A quick stomp on his head shut him up, while at the same time Zoro carefully avoided the ropes and sail surrounding him, cutting a slash across the chest of the commanding crook. He gaped like a fish, before Zoro sent him over the edge with a kick.

It was one on two now. The remaining bandit still had his gun, but it clicked uselessly. He trembled.

Zoro lowered one of his blades. "Oi."

He dropped the gun and raised his hands in the air, stained red from the blood dripping out of the cabinet beside him.

The swordsman walked up to him and slammed his hilt into his noggin, knocking him out cold. He tossed the two dead enemies into the sea. "Volta, I'll pull alongside you!"

"What?! Wait, don't-"

It was too late. Zoro grabbed the steering wheel and twisted it gently, hoping to direct the commandeered vessel just a little closer to their own ruined boat. But, as with all direction-related actions, he couldn't quite manage it.

Five minutes later, he was a kilometer away.

"ZOROOOO!"

.~===)==============={%}

After a few hours of horrendous navigating and angry screeching, Volta was able to jump into the other boat, the sword in one hand and the chest in the other. As soon as he landed, a great lurch sounded behind him, and he turned just in time to see the late Albedu's ship snap in half and start to sink rapidly.

"What a piece of crap," he muttered, before turning to the two terrified bandits left on the ship, tied up with their own shirts to the mast. They were indeed a fair bit larger than Albedu's pretty boy patsies, clear stand-ins for the older brother, but their faces were just as handsome and eerie. One's left leg bent unnaturally, pooling blood, and his arms brimmed with ugly burn scars, though those looked from a while ago.

"Maybe next time, we don't go straight to lethal," Zoro remarked.

Volta nodded absently. He bent down and lit the silver lighter in his hand, holding it close to the wounded bandit's face. "You and your compatriots aren't just a group of wannabe robbers," he intoned. "I'm starting to think you're a gang. A strong one."

The gangster said nothing.

"Albedya is the boss, and Albedu was probably his underboss, or personal assassin, or whatever you call the second banana. A remarkably stupid one, since a pathetic little hunter like me was able to finish him with one of his own guns."

"HOW DARE YOU?!" the unwounded gangster roared. "YOU'LL PAY FOR THIS! WHEN THE BOSS HEARS WHAT YOU'VE DONE TO HIS LITTLE BRO HE'LL FUC-"

Volta slapped him, took off his shoe, peeled off his sock, and shoved it into his mouth. "I really hate bad language. Words should always have a purpose, but foul words just clog up good conversation."

"I've heard you say damn at least twice since I've met you," Zoro commented cheekily.

"Eh, only certain words, really. The really bad ones."

"MMMMM, HMMMM!"

"It hurts…"

Volta stroked his chin, pursing his lips in thought. "Zoro, could you get me some of those shirts? And the spare oars you almost broke with your frantic rowing in circles?"

Zoro's eye twitched at the plural emphasis. "I was almost there the first time, geez…"

After fulfilling the request, Zoro watched as Volta wrapped a few shirts expertly around the wrecked leg, provoking a few moans in the process. The pale hunter pulled off another sock and shut him up with it. "Bite down…hard." He grabbed two ends and _pulled._

_SNAP!_

"HMMMMMMMMMMMM! HMMMMMMM!" Big fat tears ran down the gangster's face as Volta reset his leg, breaking an oar and slipping it into the shirts to form a makeshift splint.

"Feeling better?"

"HMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM! HMMMHMMMHMMMHMM!"

Volta ripped the sock out. "What was that?"

"I WANNA GO HOOOME! MOOOOMMMYYYYYYYY! WAAAAAAH!"

_SLAP!_

For a third time, the gangster found himself promptly shut up from a shocking blow. Volta gripped his shoulders and stared him in the eyes. "Look at me."

"…"

"_Look at me."_

The gangster slowly obeyed, his eyes big and watery.

"How old are you?"

"…thirty-two..."

"Start acting your age," Volta hissed. "What the hell are you even doing out here, if you're gonna break down when the going gets tough? What drove you to join up with someone like Albedya, if you don't have the guts to endure? Didn't you know what you were getting into when you joined his gang?"

The gangster looked like he had been slapped again, but Volta's words seemed to resonate with him, a bit of clarity returning to his pain-dulled eyes. _Oh boy, _Volta thought. _I was being rhetorical. He's not going to tell me his whole life story, is he?_

"Name's Westen…_not _Bowi." He scowled. "Always hated that fuckin name…never could use my real one. Don't even remember the sound of it anymore…"

Volta sat down beside him, resigned to the role of a listener. "Go on."

"I was born in Goa Kingdom," Westen continued hoarsely, wincing with every twitch of his leg. "Ever been?"

Volta shook his head. "Can't say that I have."

Westen laughed bitterly. "Don't go," he warned. "It's the prettiest fuckin hellhole you'll ever find on this side of the Big Red. I grew up in Edge Town; poorest part of the city, but it wasn't half-bad, had some decent friends, a father and a mother I could look up to, worked at a local printer." A nostalgic gaze swept over Westen. "Yes…it was a simple life, poor but rich, ya know?"

Volta nodded. "What happened?"

"The fuckin _nobility _happened," Westen growled. "One day, dozens of guards showed up and started moving people out, out of the gates. Said it was getting overpopulated. Before we knew it, my whole block got swept out of the walls, into…into…" He shivered, then winced again as his leg throbbed. "Into the Gray Terminal."

"What's that?"

"A wasteland…a horrible place, where everything is trash…and everyone is trash." Volta failed to notice the slipping of the fake accent from Westen's lips. He felt his anger grow the more considered the injustice of the tale.

"Six years of hell. Parents died of food poisoning. Lost a few friends. Had to form packs to survive, like animals. Half the time, I didn't feel human anymore, living in that place" Westen's eyes grew watery again. "And then…eight years ago…_they burned it all down!" _He wept openly, not even caring about the pain anymore.

"Who burned it all down?" Volta asked, though he had a sickening feeling he already knew.

"The nobles!" Westen cried. "Wasn't enough that they forced out all the poorer people crowding their streets; they decided to burn all the trash surrounding their precious walls too!" His lips twisted into a vicious sneer. "I lost everything all over again…but I got them back. I got them back _good!"_

He pulled a folded paper from his pants pocket, cringing in pain as he shifted his weight. Unfolded, it was a cut-out piece of newspaper, a picture of a damaged stone wall full of busted pipes. They brimmed with what appeared to be trash.

Zoro gasped in shock. "The Green Goa Incident…that was _you?!"_

Volta turned his head so fast he cracked his own neck. "Explain."

"Eight years ago, a number of citizens of that kingdom died due to a serious case of water poisoning," Zoro explained, looking haunted. "And I mean _serious; _I still remember because I saw some pictures of the deceased in the newspaper. Their heads weren't just green, they looked _rotted, _like they had died months ago and were decomposing. Scared the shit out of me then; had nightmares for a few days after."

"Language," Volta mumbled, but his heart wasn't in it.

Westen brandished a twisted smile. "As the world burned around me, I ran up to the side of their fancy-shmancy wall and smashed it open! They've got dozens of pipes running in that thing, cleanin up seawater into something drinkable. I busted up a few and stuffed some of the trash into them, the nastiest I could find before I had to flee!"

He wiggled his arms, highlighting the burn scars that covered them. "Wasn't quite fast enough," he giggled. "But it was worth it to see those pretty, pretty pictures. Hahahaha, I even got the right peeps! Only nobles died, nobles! It was fucking divine judgement! I _became _divine judgement! HAHAHAHAHA!"

The other gangster, still gagged, could only stare in horror as his comrade laughed psychotically. So did Volta and Zoro. "Bastard," the latter hissed.

Volta nodded. "Indeed, but can you say they didn't have it coming?"

Zoro shook his head. "But this idiot could have killed a couple of kids instead by chance. He's no hero."

"Oh, I know that."

Westen started wheezing, his face turning red. "Huff, huff…got recruited by Albedya cuz I looked like him a little. That's his MO, recruit tons of punks and give them makeovers, so he's surrounded by his own fuckin image."

Westen spit onto the deck. "Boss says it's to protect himself, but I think he's got some sort of narcissistic fetish, him and his sword-crazy brother. I'm glad ya put that psycho down."

The other bandit started struggling against his bonds, his eyes alight with rage. Volta leaned in, his face so close he could smell Westen's ragged breath. "Would you be willing to betray Albedya, help us take him down?"

Westen giggled again, a truly unnerving sound. "Be my honor. But I want a full pardon. Been in the Family for only a few months; haven't done much beside stealing and navigating."

"You can navigate?" Zoro asked neutrally.

"Sure," Westen rasped. "Been doing it for years now. Used to navigate a butcher's barge around the Hucho Region, but it payed shit."

"Language," Volta muttered, beckoning Zoro to the front of the small boat. "Do we even have the ability to grant pardons?" he inquired, keeping his voice down.

"No," Zoro replied. "But he doesn't seem to know that."

"With a broken leg, do you think he'll still be able to navigate us back to land?"

"Anything's better than a helmsman that blows up the wheel."

Volta gave him a dirty look. Zoro smiled back. "You'll never let that one go, will you?"

"Nope."

"Bloody bastard…" Volta walked back to Westen. "We'll pardon you," he stated with an air of authority. "On the condition you reveal everything you know about the Bowi Family, its associates, and its resources."

Westen nodded eagerly, his fellow prisoner practically frothing at the mouth over his betrayal. "The boss is Albedya, and he has a hundred lookalikes, now ninety-seven since ya took out Gotoh, Yubi, and Able. Albedu had ten more for himself."

"Dealt with," Volta intoned.

Westen gulped. "Er, right. Now that I think about it, it's only ninety-five, cuz I'm done with them and you got Trupy tied up here with me. Eh, speaking of which, could you guys untie me?"

"We will after you tell us everything," Zoro replied. "Keep talking."

"Albedya has ten boats, including this one and the one you guys' sunk. He operates out of Beer Town and he has us infiltrate and raid passenger ships in the surrounding sea zones. Albedya controls some of the breweries on the island; it's his front."

"Which ones?"

"Chester's Cup-Killer Brewery, McDonald's Mold-Murdering Brewery, and the Tsuyoi Beer Factory."

"Holy shit," Zoro gasped.

Westen snickered. "Oh, you like that last one?"

The swordsman's expression became unreadable, and he leaned in close to Volta. "Taking this guy out could be a problem. If the Navy gets there and find out about the fronts, they could shut down those places permanently. Marines are unforgiving toward all involved in criminal activity."

Volta rubbed his temples. "That's what you're worried about? How good is Tsuyoi?"

Zoro grinned. "It burns your throat, toasts your tongue, and tastes like liquid silver."

"My friend, it's just booze. I think that's more important than going easy on organized criminals."

"Wasn't suggesting that," Zoro stated. "My pride wouldn't allow it." His face became a mask of intense concentration. "We just need to find time to raid the brewery."

For the first of countless times, Volta felt a large sweat drop form on his head, much to his horror. "GAH! ZORO, WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS THIS?!"

But Zoro wasn't paying attention. He focused on Westen and Westen alone, his stare deep and ominous. "Tell me…where's the stock Albedya mentioned?"

Westen gasped. "Ya mean the STOCK? That shit's good; so good, ya gotta say it like it's nothing but capital letters."

"No, we don't," Volta stated. "And stop swearing, I don't like it."

"Yeah, his ears are still innocent, unlike the rest of him." Zoro leaned in closer to the gangster. "Don't take their innocence away. That would be a fucking tragedy."

_BOP!_

"Ow!'

"I don't like being teased," Volta said, though the grin on his face said otherwise. Zoro rubbed his head, a bump forming.

While all of this was going on, Trupy, ignored by his traitorous partner and the hunters that had swayed him, slowly moved his hand behind his back, straining it against his bond in order to grasp the hidden knife tucked into the back of his pants.

Unfortunately for him, his fingers found only an empty waistband.

"Looking for this?" Volta laughed, twirling the knife in his own fingers. He raised his arm and let the blade slip into his sleeve. "Now I've got two blades." He smiled brightly, shocking the gangsters with his crimson teeth.

"Oh yeah, I never asked about that," Zoro said. "What happened there?"

Volta rubbed his temples. "Honestly, I'm not sure. I think I had a blade between my teeth, and it melted over them."

"How the hell did that happen?"

Before Volta could respond, a cry rose up from behind him. The knotted shirts binding Trupy ripped under his bulging arms. "I'LL KILL YOU ALL!" he screamed. "HOW DARE YOU PLOT TO BRING DOWN THE BOSS! AFTER I TAKE CARE OF YOU, I'LL BRING YOUR HEADS TO HIM AND PERSONALLY-"

_Shunk_

Trupy's eyes grew wide, then looked down at the scalpel lodged in his lower throat.

"Damn," Zoro whistled. "You have good aim. But next time-"

"We'll just knock them out," Volta finished. "Sorry if I've made you uncomfortable."

Zoro shrugged. "I'm just not used to so much violence at once."

After disposing of the last obtrusive criminal, the trio of potential gangbusters unloaded the snail corpse into the ocean and set off for Beer Town, only a few kilometers over the horizon. Even with a broken leg, Westen did his part, telling the hunters what had to be done in order to sail the ship properly.

Volta kept a close eye on him through all the activity. His betrayal had been quick…perhaps a bit too quick. And even if it was genuine, it was genuine loyalty from a deranged victim of horrific trauma, and not to be trusted as long-lasting or durable in the face of persecution.

Zoro seemed to agree wordlessly with this sentiment; he watched Westen when Volta looked elsewhere. They made sure he had no immediate access to the two guns and four swords onboard; Zoro's swords were snug under his haramaki, _not _a belt, as the irate swordsman had finally pointed out earlier. Volta kept the other three weapons near the bow, where he did all the scouting.

They detected no enemy vessels, or any ships at all, until they finally caught sight of Beer Town in the distance, by the first light of dawn.

.~===)==============={%}

Beer Town's history dated back to the 1300s, a time of intense alcoholism that caused a number of problems across the East Blue. In a different world, an ultimately futile amendment to the United States constitution enforced a prohibition of intoxicating liquors. Similar laws and restrictions were set in place across the East, approved and overseen by the World Government itself.

The effectiveness of these laws proved dramatic. Backed by firepower the United States couldn't have used constitutionally, alcoholism in the East declined by as much as 78% in some regions. Social consequences of alcoholism, such as divorce, child abuse, and other societal ills, also declined sharply. It was, in retrospect, a surprisingly benign outcome for a project involving the World Government.

Of course, bootlegging continued to be a problem during this time. Eventually, all the major bootleggers decided to join together and create a unified front against the prohibition. They established Beer Town in 1324, and in ten years the city had become an industrial giant, an island dedicated solely to illegal activity.

The World Government prepared a Buster Call to end the threat to prohibition, but after a corrupt Marine officer died from the sheer deliciousness of the beer from the island, a curious Cipher Pol commander ordered his agents to investigate. Their infiltration revealed that an ambitious group of young chemical class dropouts had created beers and wines of a quality greater then that found in Mariejois itself, and were mass-producing them on Beer Town.

Word spread, and the Celestial Dragons demanded the drinks en masse. The Government made a deal for _exclusive_ access to Beer Town's creations, in exchange for tremendous sums of money. The bootleggers agreed, now unable to subvert the East Blue prohibition without risking destruction. It is estimated they made over six hundred billion berries collectively.

Of course, all of this happened hundreds of years ago. Eventually, for unknown reasons, the high-quality drinks stopped shipping out. Around this same time, prohibition began to relax, and the deal collapsed, the city's criminal element draining out over the decades.

At least, until recently.

.~===)==============={%}

To Volta, Lettuce Town seemed to have grown from the ground, a lovely green city filled with the natural world. In contrast, Beer Town had an industrial look to it, many of its larger buildings metallic and tall, forming bottle-shaped skyscrapers. Many surpassed the height of Big Ben, though Volta noted they didn't come close to the true skyscrapers of pre-rainbow London.

The docks, much larger and more complicated than the simple wooden structures of Lettuce Town, brimmed with vessels, many of them of them just as small as the one the hunters found themselves on.

"We're still outta sight for now," Westen muttered. "Many of the boss' men aren't very good at keeping an eye out. I bet those boats are empty."

"We should go around to the other side of the island," Zoro suggested. "Enter the city from behind."

"That's not possible," Westen warned. "It may not look like it, but the island is sloped; you can see some mountains behind the buildings."

Volta peered through the telescope carefully, before nodding in confirmation.

"The whole back side is nothing but rough, rocky cliffs. Trying to scale them is impossible."

"Then what about veering off and coming in from the left?" Zoro questioned. "The mountains don't extent around the docks, or we'd see them."

Westen pursed his lips, then nodded. "Yeah, that would work. Still a bit of a climb, but manageable."

"Manageable for us," Volta replied. "But your leg is still broken. I'm not leaving you in the boat alone."

The former Goa citizen glowered. "Ya don't trust me?"

"Not particularly," Volta stated. "And even if I did, I'm not leaving an injured man in a boat alone; you can't sail this thing properly in your condition."

Sweat trickled down Westen's furrowed brow, his body tense with nervous energy. "We go into the docks, we get spotted and _die._"

Volta nodded. "Yeah…if we get spotted." He pondered the situation for a moment. Three options, two bad, and one impossible. If Westen really wanted to, he could row his way to shore, but that meant he'd be loose and capable of having a change of heart. And he was right about the docks.

Suddenly, an idea occurred, one that cut through the other options like a knife through hot butter. "We'll tear apart this boat enough that they won't recognize it," he stated confidently. "Westen, I'll shave your facial hair with my sword, and Zoro's hair is already dyed blond. We'll act like we got tossed by a storm and only barely survived."

"What about my swords?" Zoro asked. "They'll recognize me if I've got three of them."

"Slip one up your pants leg," Volta instructed. "A stiff leg will add to the act if we're questioned." Zoro nodded thoughtfully.

"It'll never work," Westen moaned. "They're smarter than that."

Volta grinned menacingly. "We'll see about that." He flexed his arms and squatted down near the built-in cabinet.

.~===)==============={%}

When two members of the Bowi Family, instantly recognizable thanks to their matching clothing and general appearance, caught sight of something moving toward them, they though it was a fishing boat. A closer inspection revealed a disaster.

The ship's mast was gone, and there were gaping holes in the sides of its hull. A whole section looked like it had been torn off violently. Three figures lay listless on the shredded railing, smeared with blood and looking dazed. One had blond hair and a muscular physique, another was bald and had a leg wrapped up in bandages. The third looked very pale, and odd black marks peeked up from under the collar of his shirt.

As the boat bumped into one of the docks, the pale man jumped out, suddenly animated and dancing with joy. He quickly ran over to his blond comrade and helped him out; he had two swords by his side and a noticeable limp in his right leg. The pale man had a sword too, wrapped up as tightly as the leg for some reason.

"Holy shit," one of the Bowis muttered. "They got wasted. But the weather was calm last night."

"I hear some storms can straight-up toss ya around the East," the other Bowi replied gruffly.

"That's nuts, man," the first Bowi said. "I've only heard about that happening in the Grand Line."

"Heh," Bowi 2 barked out, his mouth twisting into a lopsided grin. "Ever heard about the _Curse Zone, _Darby?"

Darby stiffened. "Ya know we ain't allowed-"

"Don't care," Bowi 2, real name Garcho, growled. "And don't interrupt me. Anyway, they say the Curse Zone is a piece of the Line that broke off and drifted through the Calm Belt, all the way ta here. Ten islands of terror and trouble, the one in the center being the worst of them all."

Darby gulped. "Really?"

"Yup," Garcho smirked. "They say spirits walk on the center island of that sea, and that a mask made of bone lies within, that grants power to the one who wears it."

Darby gasped. "What kind of power?"

"Hell if I know," Garcho replied, glancing apathetically at the three wounded sailors hobbling through the busy docks, the pale one and the blond one holding up the more seriously injured bald one. Darby blinked, his gaze more observant. "Hey, Garcho, the blond man looks like he's got somthin in his-"

_BOP!_

"Don't interrupt me!" Garcho snarled. "I won't warn ya again!"

"Ow! I didn't, I swear! And how the hell was that a warning?!"

"Next time I stab," Garcho sneered. "Now, as I was saying…"

.~===)==============={%}

One thing became clear to Volta as he entered Beer Town; the island thrived on its excesses. Alcohol lined every shop and bubbled out of every fountain. The air was thick with its smell. Many faces were red, their noses bulbous and enflamed. A few had the look of someone on the verge of enlightenment, and others were puking their guts out in designated barrels.

The deeper they delved into the urban sprawl, the thicker the air, and the more cramped the company, as hundreds packed themselves into wide roads leading all over the place. The injuries Westen had sustained gave them some breathing room, people quick to get out of their way, but his rapid breathing and now constant groaning made Volta consider finding a resting place.

"Any hospitals in this area?" Volta asked.

"Yeah…about two miles thataway," Westen moaned. "But there's a pub nearby; go into that ally."

The hunters complied, and the three of them slipped into a relatively clean gap between two stone buildings. They made their way through the narrow space, before arriving at the back entrance of the aforementioned pub, a small sign indicating restrooms directly inside.

They crept in quietly, finding the place empty and, again, surprisingly clean. Westen propped himself on the sink counter, his breathing still labored. Zoro turned on the left facet and immediately began washing out his hair dye. Soon the bowl turned yellow, his natural bright green emerging gloriously. When it was all out, he dried it with a nearby towel and slipped one of his unnamed blades out of his pants, resetting it into his haramaki.

"Not yet!" Westen exclaimed.

"It should be fine," Zoro responded. "I saw a few other hunters out in the crowds."

"You seem to be a few steps up from 'a few other hunters.'" Volta commented, half mocking, half respectful. He stretched himself out, his shoulder popping satisfyingly, his rapier still in his hand.

"I need to use the toilet," Westen admitted sheepishly. Zoro merely nodded and helped him off the counter. "Soon as we get out of here, we're buying you a pair of crutches…"

_Drip_

A single droplet fell onto Volta's knuckle. He frowned, bringing the hand closer to his nose and sniffing it. More beer.

_Drip Drip Drip_

More drops, falling from a dozen cracks in the ceiling. One of the drips became a trickle. Volta felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. "What the hell is wrong with the ceiling," he asked.

"Eh, it does that sometimes," Westen replied. Most of the supplies for taverns are stored above here." He frowned at a puddle forming in the corner. "Isn't usually that bad." He opened a stall door and awkwardly huddled inside. "Don't worry," he stated quickly as he lifted the lid. "I don't need help."

Zoro frowned.

_Guurgle_

"…what was that?" Volta began to walk toward the toilet.

_Guuuurglllle_

"I don't know," Westen moaned, his right hand tapping the stall wall. "And I don't care. Stop crowding me, ya perverts!"

_GUUUUUUUUURRRRR-_

The toilet stared shaking. "We need to go," Volta whispered. He grabbed the back of Zoro's neck and yanked him from the stall. He tried to leave through the front door into the pub. It was locked. He tried where they had come in. Also locked.

Westen stared down into the vibrated toilet. It sounded positively demonic now. "Oh fu-"

_**BOOM!**_

A blast of alcohol shot out of the pipes underneath the commode, lifting it up and into Westen's face, shattering his teeth and cracking the entire front section of his skull. His head became lodged in the bowl, which shot up into the ceiling and exploded in a shower of porcelain and brain matter. The now decapitated body fell back down onto the increasingly wet floor with a sickening thud.

Zoro wiped the beer and the blood from his eyes, too shocked to speak. Volta felt bile rising in his throat. "What the hell…"

Already the bathroom floor was flooded up to their ankles. The body floated listlessly, darkening the color of the drink. The swordsman became violently sick.

"Alright," Volta growled. "Enough is enough." He whipped out the rapier and aimed the scabbard right at the back door.

_Click_

_**BANG!**_

The sound was even worse this time. Volta's ears rung, and his shoulder jolted painfully. But the bullet had done its work; the locked doorway had been blasted open. He and Zoro jumped the body and ran out, the beer flooding out with them. They kept running, until they were deep within the crowds again. Both had their hands clenched tight around their weapons.

"What the hell just happened," Zoro whispered, his face almost as green as his hair.

"Trap," Volta muttered. "A very specific one. I think they meant to drown us in there."

"So Westen didn't betray Albedya at all," Zoro growled.

"Maybe. Or maybe he just got caught up in it accidently."

"But how would they have known we were going into that specific room? And how did they flood it so quickly?"

"Albedya probably controls more of this island then Westen himself assumed; he could have access to the sewage system. How he managed to blow the pipes so quickly, I don't know, but that's the only explanation I can think of."

"That still doesn't explain how he knew which building."

Volta frowned, considering the question. He leaned in closer to Zoro. "Someone could be following us."

Zoro nodded. "Makes sense. But that means our attempt at entering unnoticed failed."

Damian rubbed his temples. "It probably did," he sighed. "I'm wearing Albedu's clothes. And if not and we _did _slip in successfully, maybe the tone I used on the snail call with Albedya wasn't accurate to how Albedu usually defers to his boss, and he got suspicious after the fact."

Zoro looked behind him. Dozens of people walked down the street, none of them looking even remotely similar to the fake Bowis. "I don't see a tail."

"It could just be an associate," Volta whispered. "Or a hired assassin."

"Perhaps he was the one that wrecked the pipes."

"Maybe."

They kept walking, safe in a bubble of innocent civilians…hopefully. Still, they kept their eyes peeled, tense and ready for combat at the drop of a mug. Volta rolled his shoulder, grunting as it flared up with pain. The scabbard recoil had been far greater than expected; almost enough to yank his arm clean out of his socket. He tapped the sheathed blade, scowling at nothing.

Zoro noticed his mood. "Do you really mean to learn the sword?" he asked. "I won't let you separate that rapier from its scabbard."

"Fencing and Jeet Kune Do have more in common than you think," Volta explained. "In fact, much of fencing's footwork was incorporated into the martial arts style."

The trained swordsman nodded. "I thought Albedu's stance looked familiar," he said. "I've faced fencers before, but none with his skill. Even if you do have an advantage because of your background, wielding a blade is difficult; don't expect me to be a lenient teacher."

Even as he said the words, Zoro wondered if he could teach Volta at all. His sensei had been a marvelous instructor, able to explain many of the complexities of swordsmanship that had before been completely lost on the young apprentice. But there was still so much he didn't know, or couldn't even begin to comprehend. _How the hell can a swordsman cut nothing and steel at the same time? _he pondered, one of his strangest lessons suddenly coming back to him.

"Let's turn this corner," Volta whispered. They did so.

"Let's turn over here." They did this as well.

At first Zoro listened and complied automatically, still too wrapped up in his past to fully engage in the present. But after the fifth left turn down a narrower street, he suddenly understood. A quick glance behind him revealed an entirely new set of individuals walking with them, with three notable exceptions. A fat man with thick lips and a white mustache. A far thinner woman with a large bun of hair stacked on her head. And a fairly normal-looking individual with spectacles, a red tie, and two moles under his left eye.

"All three?"

"No," Volta replied. "…well, possibly. Want to find out for certain?"

Zoro grinned. "Of course."

They kept walking, turning corners and entering new areas of the city. The streets changed from simple, well-packed dirt roads to smooth, beer-stained cobblestone. Smaller pubs and stores gave way to towering buildings and multi-story hotels. The majesty of the city fell upon the hunters like a sack of bricks; walkways extended between beer-shaped bell towers and arched bridges swept over a golden river. The city square lay ahead, another fountain within it, far bigger and more ornate then the one from Lettuce Town.

Behind it, a shorter structure, a marble palace with a sloped glass dome topping it. Through the glass, the mountains could be seen, reaching toward the heavens.

Volta glanced behind him. The fat man and the beehive lady were gone, but the spectacled tie-wearer remained.

"Follow my lead," Volta whispered, then slowly turned around, his eyes widening with faked surprise. "Vern? Vern, it is you!" He began walking quickly toward the suddenly very pale tie-wearer. Zoro matched his partner's stride, a 'friendly' smirk on his face.

"I haven't seen you in a week," Volta continued, clasping his hand on the man's shoulder and squeezing it tightly. "I know you've been very busy lately, but it's been forever since we've had a drink together."

"Yeah," Zoro chimed in, looking nervous but playing along. "How about we drop into the nearest bar for a round? You can tell us all about your…taxidermy work."

Volta and 'Vern' both stared at him for a moment, the former with amusement and the latter with undisguised terror. "Sh…sh…sure," he stammered, well-aware of the public setting surrounding them. "Let's…let's go…to the _Forge._ Just…down there…" He pointed a shaking finger down a path to the left of the square.

"Fffpahaha, great!" Volta laughed good-naturedly. "I love that one! Good place to get _hammered_, am I right? Huh, huh, aren't I?" He laughed at his own horrible pun. Zoro laughed with him. 'Vern' just smiled, his eyes twitching like mad.

He leaned in closer to the hunters, his grin a bit too wide. "You bastards…you…_you…"_

"Let's talk inside," Volta quickly commanded, wary of attracting any attention. Already they had received a few odd glances.

The new trio walked away from the center of town, unaware of three Bowis hidden behind the fountain.

.~===)==============={%}

The _Forge _had the air of a distinguished inn, a place for rum and rooms. Its three stories were lined with a modest amount of ivy, its roof blue shingled and topped with two lovely white brick chimneys. The upper floors possessed tall windows, while the ground level had wide ones that stretched around the corners of the building. But only the front corners, Volta noted with satisfaction.

They entered without issue into a vast, ornate barroom, its walls lined with suits of armor and baroque, battle-orientated artwork. Dozens of thick wooden tables filled the great space, where customers spoke and drank jovially. A large, polished bar swept around the whole back fifth of the room, hundreds upon hundreds of bottles gleaming behind it, along with more armor and a few axes.

Lining the right and left sides were small alcoves, half-crescent tables and booths that seemed to sink into the walls. Volta and Zoro led 'Vern' to one of those, letting him into the booth first and taking up positions on either side of him.

A young barmaid walked up, her dress the same blue shade as the roof. Volta noted with amusement that her lower arms and legs were covered in armor as well; it looked terribly uncomfortable. "What would you like?" she asked.

"Bottle of Zaj." Zoro grunted.

The barmaid raised a well-manicured eyebrow. "A whole _bottle?"_

Zoro nodded.

"Okay…and what about you?" she turned to Volta.

"Do you have coffee here?" he asked.

"Sure do."

"Then I'll take a mug of pure half-and-half please."

The poor worker suppressed a gag as he wrote down the request. "And you?" she asked nervously to the third customer.

"Glass of water," 'Vern' whispered.

The barmaid nodded, looking a bit relieved, before turning toward a nearby table.

Zoro gave Volta a perplexed look. "You just drink the _cream?_"

He shrugged. "Coffee's too bitter."

"Dude, I may have to rethink our partnership over this." Zoro smirked. "That's the most evil thing I've ever heard."

Volta chuckled. "You're hardly a coffee person yourself."

Zoro shrugged. "I'll take a cup every now and then, if its black. I just prefer booze."

"What's your favorite food?" Volta asked.

The swordsman furrowed his brow, tapping his fingers on the table. "White rice and pork," he responded. "Though I once tried a type of meat I liked even more. Came from something called a sea king."

Volta nodded. "Sounds like a big fish. My favorite is double-buttered grilled cheese sandwiches, dipped in guacamole."

Zoro made a face. "That's specific…and weird. That stuff is for tortilla chips."

"And potato chips."

The more experienced hunter just looked at him. "You're a strange man, Damian Volta."

'Vern' sat up a bit straighter. "My favorite is-"

"Nobody asked you," the hunters stated in unison. 'Vern' stared at the table.

Just then the barmaid returned. She set down the drinks and walked off without a word.

"See?" Zoro accused. "You weirded her out!"

"_~I'm not listening~," _Volta sung-sang as he sipped from his mug. He eyed the bottle in front of Zoro; tinged green and scaled, its neck shaped into an upward-facing dragon head, the ridged mouth holding the cork. The wrapping around the bottle had flames painted on it.

**ZAJ**

**KILLER OF LIVERS, KILLER OF SOULS**

**NOT RECOMMENDED FOR ALL AGES**

The bottle was accompanied by three small shot glasses. Zoro popped the cork out and poured two of them, the liquid colored a dark red. It looked like the dragon was vomiting blood.

"It was nice knowing you," Volta stated somberly.

Zoro chuckled. "This isn't for me; I know my limits." He slid the glass in front of 'Vern,' who stared at it dumbly.

The swordsman leaned in, a horribly pleasant smile on his face. "Now," he said. "Why were you following us?"

Volta also leaned in, sliding up to 'Vern' on the booth. After scanning the room to make sure no one was watching, he slid his hand under his jacket. It closed around the handle of a derringer. He pulled it out and hid it under the table, pointing it right at 'Vern's' crotch.

To the man's credit, he didn't panic, though he did look on the verge of passing out. Even Zoro was taken aback by the maneuver.

"Right," Volta began. "You have three options; drink the shot, get shot, or cough up how the boss knew who we were and what really happened on his boats."

'Vern' sneered. "You're bluffing. Shoot me and you'll alert the whole damn bar."

"Derringers don't make a lot of noise to begin with," Volta corrected. "Just a little bang." He pressed the gun into his lower stomach. "What about if it's muffled?" the hunter inquired.

'Vern' gulped nervously, his eyes twitching again, but he didn't hesitate; he picked up the glass and downed it. The effect was immediate. His face became red, and tears poured out of his eyes. He moaned lightly, his hands shaking and his brow suddenly slick with sweat. His eyes turned glassy.

"Zaj isn't something you can find just anywhere," Zoro explained. "It's a special liquor only sold in high-quality establishments like this one. It's very potent, to the point that a shot of it can plaster you almost instantly."

"Which means that 'Vern' here will be less inhibited, making it easier to get information out of him," Volta deduced. "Damn; I was just gonna use the gun as a threat, but you thought ahead."

"Don't like this technique," Zoro admitted. "Sometimes the answers are a bit on the loopy side. But the look in his eyes when he threatened us…I could tell he would be a hard nut to crack." Zoro shook his head in horrified wonder. "What the hell is happening on this island?"

"Gyagyagyagya, I can answer that for ya!" 'Vern' exclaimed in a suddenly high voice. A few customers turned to stare for a moment, before chuckling and getting back to their own drinks. They had seen victims of Zaj before.

"Keep your voice down," Volta commanded, the gun once again in 'Vern's' gut. "Or you won't have a chance to process that dragon's fire you drank."

'Vern' nodded fearfully, but his grin remained stuck on his face. "Oookay, I got ya. Say, when do we go and see the boss?"

Volta blinked. "Just how drunk is he?" he whispered to Zoro.

"Don't worry," the swordsman replied. "Like I said, I've done this before." He put a hand on 'Vern's' shoulder, in an uncharacteristically comforting manner. "You're a little confused," he said softly. "I understand why though; you drank a shot of Zaj, right?"

'Vern' nodded. "Yeah…but you threatened me if I didn't."

Zoro gave him a look usually reserved for complete idiots. "When did that happen? You're confused, remember?"

"Zoro," Volta asked tentatively. "I've heard of alcohol making you more susceptible, but this is ridiculous. What the hell is in that stuff?"

"Nothing that will kill him. In fact, he'll be fine in a few hours." Zoro turned back to 'Vern.' "Now, what's your name again? You already told it to me, but I'm not great with names."

'Vern' nodded. "I understand," he almost slurred. "Name's Itozu. I was supposed to follow you guys around."

"Why?"

"Because the boss got suspicious; said his little brother didn't sound like himself on the snail."

"Frick," Volta whispered.

"So, he sent a party out to see what was going on, and I was supposed to watch the docks for the ship to return." Itozu's eyes grew wide. "But when I saw the boat come back close to sinking, with two guys in it I'd never seen before and one of our own wounded and traitorous, I decided to follow them and report to the boss that his party had been defeated. He yelled at me…"

Itozu started to silently cry drunken tears. "Albedya is so mean, just because I don't look like him. The whole reason he hired me was _because _I didn't look like him, so no one would notice me spying on people the boss wanted dead…_sniff sniff_...and connect me to him."

Zoro nodded sympathetically. "Sounds like your boss is a real nut job; surrounding himself with look-alikes of himself and his brother, hiring assassins and scouts to eliminate enemy gangsters and investigators…sounds like he controls this whole damn island."

"He does," Itozu whimpered. "And it's not just because of his connections. He has the power of the Devil on his side."

Volta narrowed his eyes. "Explain."

Itozu seemed to get more and more loopy, his words slurring badly now. "Don't really know how it works…but da boss ate a weird fruit a while back, and now he can turn into a giant beer bottle. The booze he blows out of himself, he can control. He's got some weird, hydrokinetic…no…_boozo_kinetic magical power."

Damian groaned. "He's too far gone; now he's just spouting nonsense."

Zoro frowned. "Maybe. And maybe not."

Volta felt another sweat drop form. "You can't be serious," he inquired, wiping it away. "A magical fruit from the Devil that makes him control beer?"

"I know it sounds crazy," Zoro replied. "And I certainly don't believe in them myself. But this isn't the first time I've heard of these magical fruits. I once got word from a fellow hunter that he had seen a pirate break apart into multiple pieces, and the pirate had claimed to have eaten a fruit as well."

Volta pursed his lips. "Well, fruit or no fruit, _something _weird happened in that bathroom."

"Yes, yes, that was Alb-" Volta quickly put his hand on Itozu's mouth; he had been a tad too loud. "Quieter," he commanded harshly.

Itozu nodded drunkenly. "Albedya can direct his beer through pipes and stuff; I alerted him to your location, so he used his powers to attack you." Itozu opened up his coat, revealing a much smaller snail hidden inside. Volta mentally cursed himself for not searching the man more carefully.

"This power your boss has," Volta asked. "What is it's range?"

"Boss has been using this power for years now," Itozu responded. "He can control it for kilometers, but the farther away the beer is from him, the harder it is for him to control it."

Volta nodded. "Makes sense." He turned to Zoro. "If Albedya does have hydrokinesis, he could have turned the beer into blades or whips and slashed us to death. He must need to see his power in action to direct in properly."

Zoro stared at the bottle of Zaj with a bitter expression. "Then Westen's death was just collateral," he spit out. "Bastard."

"Probably doesn't even know he's dead," Volta said. Then he paused. "Unless…did you contact Albedya and tell him his assassination failed?"

Itozu nodded, looking sleepy.

"Then we need to keep moving," Volta rose from his booth, tightening his grip on his rapier. Then he froze, his blood turning to ice.

Two Bowis moved toward them, Tommy's brought to bear. With only seconds to spare, Volta flew across the table and onto Itozu, and with a mighty cry slammed his foot into its single, thick trunk. It splintered, the table flying forward and hitting the ground on its flat edge, the two hunters right behind it.

The bar came alive with the sound of gunfire, dozens of bullets tearing apart the paintings and armor surrounding the overturned table, which itself started shrinking as its edges were blasted off. Zoro and Volta crouched awkwardly behind it, Itozu wailing drunkenly between them. Volta slammed his fist into the back of his head, bouncing it off the ground and conking the spy.

As soon as there was a pause in the hail of bullets, Volta tore off one of his sleeves and threw it to the right. He opened fire from the left, taking one through the throat and another in the side, dropping both. Their machine guns clattered to the ground.

"Time to go!" he shouted over the chaos, before charging full-speed at one of the front windows, smashing through it and rolling awkwardly on the cobblestones outside. His ankle jolted painfully, and the sword dug into his side, but he was quickly on his feet and sprinting down the road, Zoro right behind him.

They didn't get far. A sewer cover popped out of the ground, beer shooting up in a vast geyser. A dozen Bowis surrounded the duo, guns trained and fingers on the triggers. The beer swirled and morphed around them, forming an intricate web of liquid strands.

A dry clapping filled the air, followed by slow footsteps.

"Well done. Well done indeed."

The gruff voice from the snail resounded across the street, and people scattered in all directions, some walking quickly, others outright sprinting. Soon the two hunters were all alone.

Bowi Albedya, the boss of the Bowi Family, looked exactly like his poster; a portly figure identical to his minions, but dressed in a fine business suit adorned with nuts and crackers. He held a flask in his right hand, from which he took a swing that was long and controlled.

With a flick of his fingers, the beer dispersed, splashing down on the street and soaking a few of his men. "I don't think I'll be needing that," he commented off-handedly. "Take their weapons."

Zoro and Volta complied; their four swords and three guns were confiscated without fuss. Albedya smiled broadly. Then he punched Volta in the gut, dropping him to his knees. A kick to the face sent two teeth flying out of it; they sparkled crimson under the sun.

"I believe," Albedya stated with a ghastly smile, "That you and your friend here are responsible for my brother's death."

"…yeah," Volta coughed up weakly, blood pouring out of his mouth. Albedya kicked him again, winding the young hunter and knocking him into a puddle of beer.

"He was quite dear to me," Albedya continued, his grin fading into a malevolent scowl. "A loyal Family member through and through. I loved him." His voice caught on the last syllable.

Volta tried to rise, and felt two metallic barrels press into his neck, and not on the tattoos. "I'm sorry for your loss," he said lamely. "It was kill or be killed."

"It most certainly wasn't!" Albedya roared. "You bastards aren't even supposed to kill your bounties!" He picked up Volta by the hair and slammed his fist right into his nose. The audible crunching noise made Zoro grind his teeth in fury, but he kept still; moving now would kill them both.

Albedya cracked his neck, breathing heavily. Even halfway between conscious thought and mindlessness, Volta could discern that the boss wasn't in good shape. He hoped his rattled brain would hold onto this fact.

Two more Bowis showed up, dragging a groaning Itozu behind them by the arms. "I'm disappointed in you," the boss drawled lazily. "Ya can't withstand a single shot of Zaj without giving away my ability?"

The bounty hunters felt their breaths catch simultaneously. Volta rose onto all fours, his arms shaking and his face bleeding from three orifices. "How…how the hell…"

"The snail was on the whole time," Albedya crowed. "I heard poor To-To here spill everything. How do you think I got here so quickly?" The boss pulled a derringer from his coat pocket.

_BANG!_

"Gaah!" Itozu screamed in pain as a bullet entered his left leg. He squirmed on the ground, writhing and wiggling. "You're like a worm," Albedya commented tonelessly. "I wonder…if I chop you in two, will you still live? Chouy, Hagrith, go take him into City Hall and test my hypothesis."

"NO! NO! NOOOOOOOO!" All his wailing was for not, as one of the Bowis pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and stuffed it into his face. He soon fell into a dreamless sleep, and the two gangsters dragged him toward the domed building in the near distance.

"As for you two," Albedya continued, his leer menacing and jovial at the same time. "Bullets are too good for you. How about we pick up where we left off in that bathroom, eh?"

This was too much for Zoro. He leaped to his feet, but the beer was quicker. It slashed across his legs, spilling blood and dropping the green-haired swordsman with a grunt of pain. "Damn…fucking…fruit…"

"I know!' Albedya squealed in a mocking high falsetto. "And in the East Blue of all places! Oh, what good connections can get you..."

He snapped his fingers, and Volta felt something smoosh against his ruined face. He saw nothing but white. A distinctive aroma filled his nostrils.

Darkness.

.~===)==============={%}

_"It's getting more and more difficult to train Lukas."_

_"I agree; something needs to be done. Elimination or reassignment?"_

_"It's too late for the latter."_

_"…I agree."_

_"…"_

_"Who will complete the mission?"_

_"There's only two options."_

_"…you can't be serious…"_

_"Lea and Damian know him best. It only makes sense that one of them should be the one too-"_

_"Are you out of your mind! Those three are practically siblings!"_

_"And how does that change anything?"_

_"…"_

_"What do you two think? Which one of you knows Lukas best?"_

.~===)==============={%}

Volta awoke to the sight of his hands around his pillow, squeezing the life out of it. With a snarl, he tore it in two.

"You alright?" Zoro asked from across the room. Thick bars hid part of him from view.

They were in cells, Volta realized. As soon as the thought entered his mind, he felt a sharp pain in the center of his forehead. He touched it delicately. Blood came away.

"How do I look," he mumbled, his tongue rubbing the ruined gums where his front teeth had been.

"Pretty bad," Zoro replied weakly. The swordsman was battered and bruised, blood dripping down his face. White bandages crisscrossed his slashed legs, stopping the bleeding but certainly not the pain.

"Keeping us alive until they drown us," Volta said, the simple deduction making his head pound.

"Yep." Zoro stretched out as best he could without tearing the bandages, sagging to the floor of his cell with a sigh. He closed his eyes and steadied his breathing.

"I don't think meditation will be of much use," Volta stated sardonically.

"You'd be surprised," Zoro replied. "It's like sleep, but less fulfilling, less satisfying. It trains you to want for less and prepare for more."

"Sounds trippy."

"You know Jeet Kuno Do," Zoro remarked. "Shouldn't you know meditation too?"

"More interested in the punching part then the sitting still part."

Zoro sighed. "You won't get everything out of martial arts if you only focus on its destructive aspects."

"Says the man who just cuts up everything."

The swordsman chuckled, which turned into a coughing fit. "Ugh…swordsmanship is all about strength, but without a calm before the storm, there's little chance to prepare your mind for battle."

Volta nodded slowly. "I kind of get it…I was taught something very similar."

Zoro cracked his neck. "Do you have a plan?"

Damian stood, the pain intense but bearable. "Four cells, no keys on the hooks." He pointed to four little hooks right next to the wall. He stood up, feeling himself for broken bones. Nothing of the sort, but everything hurt, like he had been trodden upon by a marching army.

He slammed his leg into the bars, only increasing his own agony in the process. The door vibrated but held. "Think I could just keep doing that until it breaks free?"

"No," Zoro stated honestly. "You'll break your leg. And you'd have to do it again for my cell."

"Can't do it yourself with your legs?"

Zoro stood up himself, grunting with the effort. "I can smash my arms against it until it breaks, but at that point I won't be able to use my swords anymore."

"Speaking of, they're probably being held in the boss' chamber, or some equally difficult place to reach."

Zoro laughed himself hoarse, before pointing toward the far wall opposite the door. To Volta's disbelief, all of the weapons had been piled onto a chair, guns and swords alike. Even Albedu's weapon lay listlessly. "How stupid can they be?" Volta gawked.

"I woke up before you," Zoro explained. "The guy carrying all the weapons was doing the bathroom dance, so he just dropped everything on the chair and took off."

"How long has it been?"

"Two hours."

Volta smiled. "Chances are he's not coming back. Good."

He turned to his bisected pillow and began to rip the casing further, tying together the two half's and lengthening it by tearing the sides. Every tug sent a painful jolt down his spine and through his limbs, but he persisted. In just a few minutes, a thin rope had been constructed.

"You're resourceful," Zoro said admirably.

"Another thing I was taught," Volta replied. He turned the rope into a lasso and threw the hooped part out of his cell. It fell quite short, a full ten feet from the chair. Volta threw out more and more of it, until his arms were completely through the bars. Two feet.

"Damnit," he growled. With no hesitation he tore off his blood-stained shirt and started ripping that up too, tying it to the end of his pillowcase lasso. He grinned as he reeled it back and tossed again, this time hitting the chair.

Another toss. Closer.

Another. The lasso sailed over the rapier, catching on the elaborate hilt. With a very careful tug, the weapon clattered to the ground, knocking off one of Volta's derringers with it.

_BANG!_

Volta had reloaded the weapon before arriving in Beer Town, a fact he now regretted. The bullet ricocheted off the bars of an unoccupied cell, before embedding itself in the stone opposite to it. A moment later, footsteps sounded from above.

"Shit," Zoro wheezed, caught up in another coughing fit.

"Language," Volta whispered. He pulled the lasso the rest of the way over, dragging the sword with it, and grabbed hold of the scabbard though the bars. He tried to pull the sword into his cell.

It didn't fit. The bulky firing mechanism and the sword's elaborate hilt clanged uselessly against the steel.

"…you're not very good at thinking things through," Zoro groaned. Volta bit back a curse and threw himself onto his cot, turning it over and sliding it close to the place his sword couldn't get through.

Almost immediately after three Bowis rushed in, Tommy's at the ready. "Hell you been doing?!" one of them shouted. "Trying to escape?!"

Hiding behind the overturned bed, Volta clutched his lasso tightly, trying to discern the number of enemies. From the sound of their footsteps, three, maybe four.

"We know yer hiding under there!" one of the Bowis shouted. "Show yourself!"

With only the slightest hesitation, Volta began to tear the sheet off of the cot, slowly clumping it together into a wad.

"What the hell are ya doing?!" The lead Bowi demanded, sounding a little nervous.

Volta tossed the wad. It unraveled almost instantly, the sudden flapping movement provoking the Bowis into action. Just like the two before them, they fired on the left side of the bed, shredding the mattress and bouncing bullets off the metal springs inside.

They were too focused to notice Volta slip out from behind the right side. He threw his cloth lasso through the bars, over the head of the Bowi in the back, and yanked it as hard as he could. The makeshift rope snapped, but not before jerking the wide-eyed Bowi off his feet, his aim going wild. Dozens of bullets hit the bars, the other gangsters, the far wall, and the ground. Many of them ricocheted around the room, too fast for the eye to catch. Zoro had thrown himself under his own bed at this point, but he couldn't avoid a grazing shot to the side.

Volta took a bullet to his stomach, the sudden impact knocking him to the ground. Another three whizzed over his head and blasted the brick wall behind him, spilling dust and plaster into his face. Two of the Bowis lay face-down, not moving, the other already stumbling to his feet, blood seeping from his arms. "DAMNIT!" he cried, leveling his gun at Volta's fallen form.

He never got the chance to fire, Zoro's thick hands slipping out of the bars and encasing themselves around the gangster's throat. A few pressure points squeezed later, and the Bowi dropped to the ground, unconscious.

Zoro sighed heavily. Volta groaned as he got to his feet, his hands clutching his middle. The bullet lay near him; it had never penetrated. "These tattoos are starting to grow on me," he muttered quietly, as he reached through the bars to check for keys. To his relief, he found one. He tried it on his own door.

No luck.

He tossed it to Zoro.

_Clink_

The swordsman rushed to his blades and slipped them into his haramaki, breathing another sigh of relief as he did so. He searched for more keys, bending over awkwardly due to his injuries. His efforts yielded the rest of the unlocking items.

Once Volta was out, he quick grabbed hold of the sword, shoving the two derringers he had originally swiped into the back of his pants. "Five down from the 'rescue party,' two more I shot in the _Forge_, and three defeated here. If Westen was right, there should be ninety left. Think you can handle ninety?"

"They're probably spread out around the city," Zoro responded, unsheathing two of his blades and inspecting them. "If this is the main base for the Family, I doubt they'll all be stationed here at once."

"True," Volta replied. He inspected his own weapon. It was just as shiny as ever. "We're too deep into this crap to back out now."

"To the boss?"

"To the boss."

The duo walked out of the dungeon, up the spiraling stone steps that led to the first floor. Both hunters felt their injuries acutely. In Volta's case, faded bruises and cuts from his fight with Zoro two days ago, the bullet in the back he had gotten just yesterday, yet another in the stomach today, and a broken nose and wrecked smile to top it all off. He swished his spit in his mouth and spit it out; the blood was sill thick in it.

"Don't worry about your teeth," Zoro comforted, noting his friend's dismay. "Milk will fix that no problem."

Volta blinked. _"Milk?"_

Zoro nodded. "What else would work?"

"Nothing, where I'm from."

"You didn't have _milk _in Austria?"

"…not the kind that regrows teeth."

"Damn…only skim, huh?"

Volta felt another giant sweat drop form. "…sure."

Soon they reached the door at the top of the stairs; a wooden, heavy thing with beer bottles engraved on it. Volta blasted one of them off its hinges with a kick, a derringer already in his hand and ready to fire. Two Bowis loitered nearby; they had no time to react.

_BANG! BANG!_

The shots lead to shouting and running, and soon a dozen Bowis were barreling into the hall, three from one side and nine from another. Volta rushed the smaller number, throwing his gun right at the leading man's face. It slammed into his nose with a crunch, and not half a moment later his flanking comrades went down in two bursts of blood, Volta having already unloaded his last derringer into them.

Zoro dashed at the nine gangsters to his right. They, too, had little time to react.

"HAWK WAVE!"

All nine minions went flying into the air, cuts opening up on their chests and sides. A few guns fell to the floor in pieces.

Another three men entered, looking nothing like Bowi. One was tall and armored, the other two short and fierce. The latter two rushed at Zoro with knives, which the swordsman sliced away easily before cutting them down. The larger man twirled an axe menacingly above him, but this left his armpits exposed, which Zoro stabbed viciously. He groaned in pain, and tried to slam the axe down, but Zoro cut the wooden shaft in two, the head hitting the ground harmlessly. Then he slammed one of his hilts into the side of the man's helmet, ringing it like a bell and dropping the big oaf.

Meanwhile, Volta also found himself battling some interesting minions, two gangly scimitar users with dozens of piercings decorating their lips. They coordinated their attacks flawlessly, forcing him on the defensive.

He found himself increasingly forced back, his sloppy blocks unable to fully deflect the slashes of his enemies. Two cuts came dangerously close to severing his arteries, the likely target of their constant neck strikes.

With twin sneers, the swordsmen twisted in opposite directions, each swinging toward a different side of Volta's middle. He unsheathed his rapier and blocked both strikes, one with the sword and the other with the scabbard. Both weapons were knocked clean out of his hands.

Biting back a curse, Volta summersaulted backwards, his flipping legs taking shallow cuts in the process. He landed in time to see their blades swinging for his neck, this time to slice right through it.

Into this fray leaped Zoro, his elbow pushing Volta out of the way and his katana blocking the scimitars with ease. A quick turn of the wrists, and the far stronger swordsman cleaved their blades in two.

"Incomplete…ONI GIRI!"

The pierced twins fell.

Silence reigned; it seemed as if they had already cleared out the base. Volta sighed with relief, wincing all the while at the stinging sensations lining his arms and legs. Blood covered the floor, and occasionally a fallen gangster moaned in pain.

"Huff, huff…do you think…huff…we can take on…huff…the boss like this?"

Zoro sheathed his blades. "We need to call in the Marines. I don't think they have a base on this island, or even a presence."

"Yeah…huff…could idea."

Roronoa frowned at Damian worriedly. "You're losing a lot of blood."

"Honestly, I'm pretty close to passing out." Volta climbed to his feet, blood dripping down his legs and arms. "I don't think I recover as fast as you do, which is pretty bloody fast by the way."

"Lots of endurance training," Zoro replied. "_Painful _endurance training."

Footsteps sounded from behind them. They whirled, expecting another minion. It was nothing of the sort.

"You…you…_you_..." Albedya struggled to speak, his face purple and his hands shaking. But not for long.

"YOU FUCKING HUNTEEEERRRRSSS!"

Volta pointed at his snarling teeth. "I don't appreciate your language."

That was the final straw. Albedya roared like a beast, his body bulging and changing. Volta and Zoro could only stare in shock as he became a monstrous, ten-foot-tall beer bottle. His body turned square, his neck stretched long, and his face seemed to melt into the center, turning glassy and brownish. His arms and legs beefed up, but they were still puny compared to the rest of him.

"Killing my brother, wrecking my mansion, threatening my enterprise…I'm going to enjoy drowning you both. So. Damn. _Much._"

Volta felt another sweat drop form. "Zoro, are we seriously fighting a hyper-literal metaphor for the dangers of alcoholism?"

Zoro blinked. "A what?"

Without warning, the giant beer man fell forward, hitting the blood-soaked carpet with a thud. The long bottleneck now faced them, the cork stuck in its tip shaking ominously.

Volta could feel a _trio _of sweat drops. "Oh, you've gotta be-"

_**POP!**_

The cork blasted toward them, forcing the hunters to slam themselves into the walls of the corridor. The projectile missed them, but the wind pressure didn't; it knocked them forward, along with a few screaming bodies and pieces of decorative artwork.

It sailed through the far wall, and the wall after that, and then the wall of the mansion. It smashed its way through three houses, only stopping inches from a little girl playing tea party with her favorite stuffed animal. Unfortunately, Mr. Bun-Buns did not survive the impact.

He will be missed.

"Eh, impressive. Few manage to survive my opening strike." Albedya lurched to his feet, an impressive feat considering his new shape. Zoro and Volta also got to their feet, badly bruised but no less determined.

"Behold, the true power of the Glug-Glug Fruit!" With this exclamation, the beer man scrunched up his sunken face in concentration, his giant glass body shaking violently.

"Time to go," Volta whispered hoarsely, already running toward the nearest available window.

_WHOOSH!_

_SMASH!_

The two hunters ran down the cobblestone street, a tsunami of beer right on their tails. They weren't fast enough, barely having time to take in breathes as the wave submerged them completely.

Caught in the current, the hunters found themselves thrown into the path of the fountain, specifically the sharp wings of the angel topping it. Even in the murk of the beer, Zoro spotted the danger, grabbing his partner by the neck and pulling him out of the way. They barely dodged the stone obstacle, and as they did so the depth of the wave thinned around them, as it seeped into the streets around the city square.

Soon the duo lay coughing and gagging on the wet cobblestones, the air thick with the stench of strong scotch. "Ffpahahaha, now he's failed to drown us twice," Volta wheezed.

"I WON'T FAIL AGAIN!" Albedya burst from the mansion, his body soaked and his grin malicious. "BEHOLD! AGAIN!"

The alcohol on the streets began to rise into tendrils of liquid, dozens upon dozens of them. They grew higher and higher, before dive-bombing the duo. They barely managed to dodge; Zoro's blades were out and slashing the tendrils as they attacked.

Volta clenched his hands in frustration. His own weapon was either back in the mansion or out on the streets somewhere, drenched in beer. The mechanisms that worked the gun in the scabbard might be clogged, and sword dulled. Just thinking about how his sword could be ruined, before he had had a chance to wield it properly, filled the young man with rage.

A rage that his tattoos responded to.

With sudden ferocity, they leaped from his body, startling both hunters and almost smashing right into Zoro. Tendrils of ink met tendrils of beer, but the thicker substance won out, shredding the alcohol.

"OH? YOU HAVE A DEVIL FRUIT AS WELL?" Albedya seemed genuinely impressed. Volta snarled, the tendrils lashing out as far as they could while still being connected to him, reaching desperately for the massive beer man.

But the beer tendrils weren't letting up. More and more of them swarmed the ink, slithering around it and attacking Volta's already worn-out body. Dozens of small cuts opened up on his body, adding to his sizable collection.

"Volta!" Zoro cried out, still desperately trying to defend his partner. But he too was taking a lot of damage, the tendrils slashing mercilessly.

"Gluglugluglugluglug, admit it," Albedya hollered, slowly shrinking down to his normal proportions. "You're outmatched! I don't even need my bottle form to defeat the pair of you!"

"Gaah!" Zoro screamed as a particularly large tendril slashed across his stomach, spilling blood all over the cobblestones. He fell, his swords clattering out of his hands. Volta fell with him, too weak from blood loss to continue running.

Albedya's smile split his face, as he waltzed his way over to the fallen duo. "Game, set, and match!" he crowed. "Looks like you couldn't hold yer liquor! Gluuuugluglugluglugluglug!"

A massive tendril formed behind him, twisting and thickening into a deadly liquid drill. Volta knew with absolute certainly that a hit from that would be fatal, but he could barely bring himself to move, his whole body leaking his life fluids at an alarming rate.

Still, through the agony, he lifted his head, determined to meet his death head-on. His brown, bloodshot eyes locked with Albedya's cold blue. He started swishing his spit, ready to hurl it up into his face. It felt strangely warm in his mouth. _Must be the blood, _he morbidly thought. _Good, it'll be that much harder to get out of that suit of his._

Albedya leaned in close, apparently sensing defiance that he couldn't help but crush. "You're a cocky bastard," he muttered viciously. "But you were never gonna win. I've got this whole city wrapped around my finger; you signed your death warrant by entering it with the intent of bringing me in. Any last words, ya bastard?"

Of course, the boss had no intention of actually hearing them, his beer tendril swooping down to drill Volta's head out of existence. His chance slipping away, Volta spit, hoping it would get far enough to hit the jacket.

It went much farther than that. The glowing red saliva slashed into Albedya's face. Instantly the man's eyes widened, his mouth open in a silent scream as red lighting enveloped his head. Concentration broken, the drill dissipated into a harmless waterfall of liquid, drenching the two slack-jawed hunters but not hurting them at all.

His eyes bulged, then popped. The skin on his head blackened and melted, smoke pouring out of his ears and nostrils. His body shook violently, then went still, falling backward and hitting the street with an audible thud.

Volta stared at the fallen corpse for a moment, his mind racing and his wounds leaking. Then he barked out a laugh. "Auf Wiedersehen," he muttered.

Then everything went black once more.

.~===)==============={%}

_Buda Buda Buda, Buda Buda Buda, Bu-CLICK _"Hello, Warr…YOU WHAAAT?!"

.~===)==============={%}

Twenty cruisers surrounded Beer Town, their cannons posed to destroy any small crafts that attempted to leave. Hundreds of Marines flooded into the city, some of them carrying riot shields, some hoisting bazookas, all ready for resistance.

Resistance they found, but it was half-hearted at best. The Bowi Family was leaderless and unmoored; many of the gangsters seemed almost relieved to have shackles slammed on their wrists. Only two soldiers were wounded in the mop-up operation.

Captain Rangala Prodi led the charge into the Family headquarters, his beaming daughter by his side. They found many fallen crooks, two-extremely banged-up hunters, and a shaking, sobbing wreck of a young man, all in the main foyer.

The captain lowered his bazooka, a look of smug satisfaction on his face. "At long last…never thought we'd track down the mastermind behind the attacks in this area." He offered his hand to Volta, who shook it numbly. Zoro did the same. "Thanks to you two, promotions are certainly inbound! You may get your coat by the end of the month Kyla!" He ruffled her hair good-naturedly, provoking a few giggles from the soldiers flanking them. Naturally, this killed her good mood quite thoroughly.

"Sho glad we could help you with your corporate lather climbing," Volta remarked, his words slightly slurred through the missing teeth and bandages. "Mind giving us and Itozu here a hand? The poor bloke almost got bisected today." The sobbing man nodded, his nose running like crazy.

"Of course," Kyla intoned, still shooting her father a dirty look. "And I'll make sure you get your money afterwards."

"Eleven million and two hundred thousand," Prodi stated. "Shave-off for dead bounties is eighty percent in this region. Appreciative I may be, but we can't hand out _too _many favors." He gave Kyla a knowing smile, which she pointedly ignored.

"Good enough for us," Zoro said, his bloody form already being loaded onto a stretcher.

"Yeah," Volta agreed. "However, since we just cleaned out an island, I would like one more favor."

Prodi raised his eyebrow. "Oh?"

"I have a rapier; it got lost in the battle with Albedya. Could you have some of your men find it for me?"

The captain shrugged. "Sure. What does it look like?"

.~===)==============={%}

Two days, ten meals, and a morbid amount of alcohol in Zoro's case later, the duo lay in their makeshift hospital beds, mostly healed but not feeling up to rising just yet. The more experienced swordsman had gained his first scar; a thin, barely noticeable line running horizontally across his stomach. Volta had, to his continued dumbfounded-ness, regained his teeth through a few gallons of milk. And they still shone crimson in his mouth.

"Another mystery for another time," he muttered to himself.

"Your whole existence feels like a mystery," Zoro chuckled. "Not that I mind, seeing how it saved our asses." He stretched like a cat, reopening a small cut on his ribs. "Living tattoos, electric spit…any more surprises?"

"I hope not," Volta replied. He ran his hands over the rapier, just handed to him an hour ago by a Marine seaman. "Well, it's a bit waterlogged," he remarked. "But not damaged in any serious way. I wonder if Albedu modified it with his brother's abilities in mind."

"He modified the hell out of the scabbard, that's for sure." Zoro leaned closer to Volta's bed, his expression serious. "Remember what I said; if you want to learn the sword, I won't make it easy for you. Especially with a Meito in your possession."

"Ffpahaha, I wouldn't expect anything less from you."

He set his sword down, thinking back to everything that had happened. "Zoro…we got lucky, in a way I doubt we will again. Albedya was too much for us to handle, him and his brother both."

The swordsman nodded, his fists clenched as memories of his duel resurfaced. "We need to get stronger. Much, much stronger."

"And smarter," Volta added. "I need to learn as much as I can about this world, and quickly. Everything I'll need to thrive here, and to achieve my dream."

"Oh," Zoro exclaimed. "You finally have one?"

"I suppose I do," Volta said softly, remembering the words of an old dreamer, living in a dying world.

_If only things were different…I hope you find a passion as strong as mine one day, Damian. A dream you can follow until your last breath. The world isn't gone yet; no not yet._

"I hope you finish your dream, Mr. Tybalt," Volta whispered.

He sat up, a new light gleaming in his eyes. "I'm going to rid the world of criminals," he declared, with all the passion and arrogance of the hopeful. And the young. "I'll rid the world of bandits, gangsters, and pirates. Even the Pirate King himself."

Zoro laughed. "Now _that's _a dream! It's almost as crazy as mine!"

Volta laughed, a rich sound. In the city of Beer Town, the bells began to ring. A new day had begun.

.~===)==============={%}

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**The only way forward is forward. Thank you for your readership. Thank you so, so much. It's only getting better from here.**

**Yeomanaxel, the Verified Yeo.**


	4. Tamago Tree Arc Part 1

**Chapter 4 - The Tamago Kingdom**

The sun rose on the morning of May 10th, Volta and Zoro's third day in the Marine hospital tent on Beer Town. It was also Volta's sixth day in this new world, and he reflected on this fact as he consumed a light breakfast.

His banana finished, Volta tossed the peel into the air, its trajectory aimed at the trash can across the length of the room. He would never know that at the same time the peel reached the climax of its arc, two significant events would occur.

The first happened just a region away, in a harbor near a stretch of ocean perfect for fishing. A young boy with a mop of pink hair set foot on a ship he thought would take him into this fishing zone, only to realize too late that it was a pirate vessel, one led by a malicious blob of a woman named Alvida. His name is Koby, and the journey this mistake would set him on would become one of the greatest legends in Marine history.

The second event occurred much farther away, in a mountain during a horrendous blizzard. Portgas D. Ace, a rookie pirate with an already substantial reputation, met the infamous Red-Haired Shanks for the first time. When their eyes met, a tremble wracked its way down Ace's body, adrenaline forcing sweat out of his pores in copious amounts. And yet, his smile never faltered, and it was this quality that made the infinity more powerful Shanks respect the young pirate. The two captains and their crews had a banquet, during which Ace informed Shanks of his plan to topple Whitebeard. Shanks would relay this information to the great pirate himself just a few days later, accelerating the confrontation and eventually leading to Ace joining Whitebeard's crew. In the years to come, Shanks would deeply regret this decision more then any other.

The peel entered the wastebasket.

"Oi, how much longer do you want us to stay? It's been three days now."

"We'll leave today. I just need to finish my writing."

"You seem to do an awful lot of that."

Volta nodded, and proved Zoro's pointed by only writing faster.

_May 10__th__, 1520_

_Six days now, though really only five and a half. Got a new pen from one of the Marine orderlies. The feather one I nabbed ran out of ink, and I don't have a bottle to dip it in._

_Speaking of which, my tattoos have been on my mind lately. According to Zoro, they protected me from his attacks. Why I have them and how I gained them is unknown to me. I've attempted flexing them out, and when that failed, to will them out by imagining them emerging. That also failed. I then tried shaking my arms and legs, leading to further, minor injury. I will continue trying to understand them later, but I've exhausted every option short of trying to harm myself, which I'm not yet ready to attempt._

_That isn't the only thing I've been working on solving. Getting transported here couldn't have been random; there must be some power at work, something with a goal in mind. Am I some sort of key player in a game between deities? I don't really believe so, but there's no way to know for sure._

_I'm reminded of Thor, the god of thunder from Norse mythology. I was struck by lightning right before being sent here, which means that the lighting may have been the means of transportation. If I remember correctly, didn't Thor have the power to travel through his lighting? That may have just been in the movies, I'm not sure._

_As for the timing of my arrival, that too is quite odd. The final unusual puzzle piece. Two years before the story begins is quite a long time. It's as if this entity wants me to learn as much about this world as I can __before__ the beginning, while being unaware of the events of the story itself._

_There's so much I don't know. So much I may never know. Can I accept that? _

"I'm done." Volta closed his notebook, slipping it into the bag he had asked for. It appeared identical to Zoro's own; he wondered if the Marines gave them out to all registered hunters. The Marine sigil lay embedded in the cheap leather, and within lay his coin-sized hunter badge, proof of official registry. A dagger and seagull, etched on a piece of silver.

"Prodi's given out a lot more favors then we asked for. I appreciate that."

"Like father like daughter, I suppose." Zoro cleaned his blades methodically, carefully rubbing and oiling each part of the weapons. Then, he clapped his hands together, bowed his head, and reassembled them at a startling pace. Volta watched with fascination as the experienced swordsman slipped the guards through the blades, fastening them to the hilts with a trio of soft clicks.

His work done, he placed the naked swords at his side and began to clean the scabbards. First, he twisted a soft cloth into a thin rope. Then he inserted it into the opening, its length completely swallowed by the scabbard. He shook it, wiped the edges, and pulled it out, covered in dust and slightly damp.

"The beer got in everything," he muttered. "But these are perfect for cleaning. Here." He tossed one to Volta, who folded it up and slipped it into his bag. "Appreciated. How many do you have?"

"About a dozen," Zoro replied. He pulled another from his bag. "Watch carefully." He twisted it again. Volta studied the technique, how he rolled the middle and turned the edges to make the bottom wider and the top thinner. He pointed to the bottom. "This end will soak up the majority of the beer, which pooled at the bottom of your scabbard." He pointed to the thinner. "The other end is for holding. If you rub your fingers together it will hold the cloth in its shape as you wiggle it."

Volta's first attempt partially succeeded; the cloth ends looked good but it didn't hold its shape. He frowned at the dust and wet spots after the cleaning. "Why don't we just turn them upside down and dump the beer out?"

Zoro paused. "I did that days ago," he said. "I assumed that would be obvious enough that it didn't need mentioning."

Volta looked at his cloth again. Indeed, it seemed too damp now. "Sorry." He twirled his own scabbard upside-down and shook it gently. A few droplets came tumbling out. His next cleaning proved far more successful.

"Alright," Zoro sighed, stretching out his arms. "Now, I don't know much about rapiers, but I know more about swords in general. If you don't mind-"

"I do not." Volta handed the blade over. Zoro moved his hands up and down the weapon, feeling gently for areas of weakness. "Hm…this doesn't seem like the kind of sword that can be taken apart, like a katana." He stood up, moved to the middle of the room, and began swinging it, then thrusting. He shook his wrist, causing the blade to vibrate. Then, to his partner's horror, he slammed the hilt onto the edge of his bed. His anger turned to shock as the blow left the sword untouched, and the bed frame dented.

"It's definitely a Great Grade Sword," Zoro whispered. "A truly magnificent weapon."

"I heard you talking about that before," Volta said. "While fighting Albedu. By the way, why do people pause their fighting to talk in this world?"

Zoro looked at him as if he had grown another head. "Your people didn't do that?"

"No."

"Very strange," he muttered. "But anyway, I was referring to the Meito System. The world is full of millions of blades, but only a few hundred are named, revered as legendary, and world-renowned."

"Really?" Volta asked, his mind awhirl. "And my blade is one of them?"

"Most certainly," Zoro confirmed. "I don't know how such a good sword fell into the hands of a thug like Albedu, but it's definitely of the Great Grade. There are twelve Supreme Grade, twenty-one Great Grade, and fifty Skillful Grade, as well as a large number of other named blades that aren't good enough to be considered skillful."

"Do you know them all?"

Zoro frowned. "Only a few." He grabbed his white blade. "This is Wado Ichimonji, another Great Grade Sword. It belonged to my friend before she passed. My other blades aren't even on the Meito system, but they get the job done." He scrunched up his forehead. "I believe Mihawk has a Supreme Grade, but I don't know its name. Or the name of your sword."

Volta retrieved it, staring in contemplation. "It's gonna be hard for you to beat this Mihawk guy if he has a sword that's better than yours."

Zoro grinned. "I'm not worried. It's not just the sword that determines the fight. Otherwise a baby with my Wado could beat a Marine with a cutlass. It's about training, dedication, and skill, and I've got all three."

"Well, don't get overconfident," Volta warned. "You called him a thug, but Albedu was no joke. He would have won if I hadn't intervened."

That wiped the smile from the swordsman's face,. He grimaced but nodded in agreement. "Yeah, you're right. I never thanked you for that. Or for the time you saved me from Albedya either." He flopped back onto the bed, his eyes looking beyond the ceiling. "Damn…training, dedication, and skill, but there's still a long way to go…"

He jumped up from his slump, eyes alight. "Then I'll just have to increase all three of those," he stated. "I'm going out to the mountains to train. Want to join me?"

Volta nodded, leaping to his feet and immediately staggering. "Ugh, my head still feels light."

"We'll get some water on the way," Zoro replied. "Come on, we gotta get you used to your weapon!" He turned to the door, but before opening it, be turned back to his partner, the look in his eyes hard and merciless. "I'm warning you…I take the sword seriously. I expect you to do the same, or I won't train you. And don't expect me to go easy on you either."

Damian grinned, his teeth flashing. "I've never been acquainted with easy; I don't expect to meet her today, tomorrow, or in a thousand years."

Zoro laughed. "That's the spirit!"

.~===)==============={%}

Beer Town fell behind them, as the two hunters took a well-worn path up to the mountains. Sparse greenery and rocky hills surrounded them, and as the road twisted through the new scenery, the town fell out of sight completely. Even the ocean became obscured.

"According to this pamphlet," Zoro explained, holding aloft a thin paper. "This place is called the Echo Change Range."

"Hm," Volta hummed. He stopped walking, took in a deep breath, and shouted, "HELLO!"

"HELLO!"

His eyes grew wide. "Bloody…that was a woman's voice!"

Zoro laughed. His laughter reverberated as that of an old man's. "I'm not sure how it works, but it's pretty cool."

Volta nodded. "We should keep our voices down; it's kind of unnerving me."

"IS THAT SO!?"

"IS THAT SO!?" The echo squeaked. Volta scowled, reminded of the singing chipmunks he had briefly heard over an English radio.

Heavy footsteps sounded from behind the next bend. Both hunters tensed, but as the figure emerged, they felt their jaws go slack. For it was no man.

A giant brown bear walked toward them. He moved on his hind legs, his left paw clutched around a walking staff cut from a branch. His stride flowed with the grace of one who has walked the earth, and his eyes peered out wisely from furry brows.

Said gaze began to harden on the two hunters. He stopped in his tracks, rose his staff, and brought it down with a thud. Zoro moved his hands to his swords, and Volta did the same.

"Zoro, what is that?" Volta questioned.

"A Hiking Bear," Zoro answered. "I've heard about them, but I've never seen one in person before." He smiled, and the hungry glint in his eyes left a sinking feeling in Volta's gut. "And that means I've never fought one before."

The bear's frown deepened. He pointed at the two hunters, then lowered his finger toward the ground.

"Does he want us to crouch?" Volta asked.

"To bow," Zoro replied. "You're supposed to bow to a passing Hiking Bear."

Volta did just that, removed his hand from his hilt and bowing to the bipedal animal. It nodded its head with a grunt of acknowledgement, before turned his full attention onto the obstinate Zoro.

"I don't bow easily," the swordsman stated confidently. "You'll have to fight me for it."

"I thought we were going to the mountains to train!"

"We are! Go run to the tallest one, climb it, and run back here!" His insane command delivered, Zoro blazed forward, his blades out and ready for slicing.

The bear watched him charge forward with a bored expression.

"ONI GIRI!"

The three blades crashed into the staff. A small shockwave shook the hills, the clanging sound transforming into a clown honk as it echoed.

Volta watched the two fight for barely a minute before deciding to take Zoro's order seriously. We ripped off the bottom halves of his pants legs, then the sleeves of his white shirt. He stretched to the sounds of battle, set down his sword on a rock near the fight, and took off down the path, barking and whoopee cushions echoing behind him.

Soon the echoes faded, and Volta was left with the sounds of his own breathing in his ears. His legs propelled him forward, faster than he had ever been before. The hills and trees flew by him, and the wind battered his face and arms.

Blue sky. Tan stone. A mountain before him, vast and without mercy. Faster and faster he ran, past the trees and bushes, past the streams and falls, past the deer and the squirrels.

Another Hiking Bear, smaller than the first, appeared before him. Volta lowered his body, never breaking stride. The Bear seemed to accept this; its fur blew back as Volta ran past.

The mountain grew closer. Thousands of edges and dips, places to grab and jump off of. Far from perfectly vertical. Volta laughed; this would be a piece of cake.

His pace slackened, then quickened, and he was jumping off the hills, leaping toward a shortcut he had spied. Brambles clawed at him, his clothing catching here and there but never tearing. He kept running, ignoring the stinging scratches and the soreness in his muscles.

At last he stopped, heaving and staring. The mountain lay before him in all its glory, rays of light poking out from its tip. Volta took only a minute to rest, and soon he was moving again, slowly and carefully, up the slopes of the great rock.

.~===)==============={%}

The wind whipped at Volta's body. His bloody hands continued to mechanically reach, grab, and hoist, his eyes scanning for more leverage points.

His deep regret over undertaking this ridiculous task had already come and gone. Now all he felt was determination. The summit lay just beyond his sight, but he knew it had to be close. The drop seemed endless, even with the ground visible at the end of it.

Volta's muscles surged with energy and agony, the two feelings colliding into each other as he pulled himself up another foot of rough, biting rock. And another. And another.

A sudden crash rang out in the distance, the sound faint but distinct. Volta wondered if the echoing still worked if he was this high up the mountain. _Shouldn't the sound have changed into a squeak or something? _he thought.

A soft roar sounded, then another crash. Then silence. Had the battle ended? Volta pushed such thoughts from his mind. He had his own battle to finish. With a groan, he pulled himself higher still.

His sweat-soaked form finally found rest on a ledge just twenty feet from the top. He lay upon it, gasping for breath, his bloody hands scratching at his itchy, gooesebump-coated legs.

And to top it all off, his face muscles hurt from smiling so much.

His rest only lasted a minute, and soon he was dragging himself up the last twenty feet of mountain. His arms jumped and bulged, and he felt as if his rib cage had ripped in half. But onward he pressed.

"GAAAAAH!" with a final, superhuman effort, he flopped forward onto the summit. He rolled himself over and forced his legs from the edge. The wind truly tore at him now, its icy blasts slicing into his unprotected forearms and calves. The pain was excruciating.

And all at once, it stopped.

Volta gasped and sputtered, choking on his own spit in his shock. He spat onto the rocks and forced himself up, abs straining under the action. He sat for a few minutes, giving his body a rest after the arduous afternoon climb.

When he felt his strength return, he shakily began to stand.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Volta slumped over, his head dangerously close to the edge. Rolling over again, he turned his eyes in the direction of the one who had spoken.

There wasn't much to see. The figure's back was turned, his form completely shrouded by a dark green cloak. He stood facing the horizon, the light shining around him further darkening his appearance. A soft wind fluttered the bottom of his coat, and the top of his hood.

"I watched you. Impressive, but foolhardy. Just like your green-haired friend below."

"What can I say," Volta snarked. "We're young and foolish."

"That much is obvious," the man stated, equally sarcastic. His voice sounded gruff to Volta's ears, but there was something deeper in it. An age and wisdom that bellied mere gruffness. Or perhaps he only thought he heard wisdom. His head felt light at the moment.

"Your friend won, by the way," the man continued. "He's a mass of welts and claw marks right now, but the bear got worse off. And then, when it fell, do you know what he did?"

Volta felt relief well up in him. "Probably finished the damn thing off."

"Ha! Not even close!" The man sounded deeply amused. "He bowed to it, and continued on his way! Shishishishi!"

The young hunter smirked, the odd but carefree laughter lowering his guard. "Zoro doesn't bow easily, especially when he's supposed to. I haven't known him long, but I know that much about him."

"Zoro," the man repeated, as if feeling how the word sounded in his mouth. "I like that name. It's a name fit for a warrior. What's yours?"

"Damian Volta."

"Hmm." The man clicked his tongue. Or at least, Volta thought he did. "I've never heard of such a name. Where do you hail?"

"Somewhere lost to war," Volta replied honestly. "Somewhere that will never be found again."

The man nodded. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his tone somber. "If I had known, perhaps…" He fell silent. The wind around him grew stronger.

"You wouldn't have been able to do anything." Volta comforted. "My land was beyond anyone's help."

The cloaked figure nodded, his back still facing the young survivor. "Hope you don't think the same about yourself."

Volta frowned, slowly getting to his feet again. His legs shook with exhaustion, but his curiosity overrode them. "Who are you," he whispered. "And more importantly, who do you think you are, to say something like that?"

The shoulders of the figure rose and fell in a shrug. "I know people," he stated softly. "And you sound like the kind of person who's desperate for something. Something to fill a void in your soul."

Volta growled, walking faster as he crossed the tip of the mountain. "Now wait just a minute, you bas-"

A sudden wind knocked him off balance, and he collapsed onto the rock. He growled again, and tried to stand, but the wind gusted from behind, throwing him down.

"Sorry," the man said, and he really did sound sorry. "I don't want you to see my face. I doubt you'll report me to your boss, but a guy like me needs to take precautions."

"I don't have a boss," Volta stated flatly. "And you have powers, just like that beer guy I fried. Did you eat a magical fruit as well?"

"Thanks for taking care of Albedya," the man continued, as if he hadn't heard the question. "The man was a cancer, a virus. Beer Town is better off without him."

Volta sat cross-legged, trying to burn a hole into the figure's back with his eyes.

"And you do have a boss," the man continued. "The same boss that rules over almost every one of this planet's three billion inhabitants. And if it doesn't rule, it enslaves. Or kills."

"The World Government," Volta whispered. The man made no motions, his figure darkening as the sun continued to descend. Slowly, the younger man tried to rise again, and found no resistance. He shakily stumbled toward the man, peering ahead of him over the mountaintop.

Streaks of red and purple colored the navy sky, illuminated by a small, orange half-circle, itself deepening and shrinking under the horizon. With Beer Town behind them, the other side of the mountain cascaded down toward a vast, glittering sea, sparking crimson and orange before the majestic sunset.

"It's beautiful," the man whispered. "So beautiful."

Volta nodded. "It is."

The sun continued to shrink, turning magenta, before finally winking out, taking most of the light with it. Stars glittered in the vast expanse. The wind died completely.

"Let me ask you again," Volta spoke softly. "Who are you?"

They were side by side now, but the hood covered too much. All Volta could make out was a warm, hearty smile. "Just a dreamer," he said. "A patient dreamer, waiting for the world to awaken."

The man turned his head a fraction of an inch, and a second detail became visible. A cold, calculating eye. "Who are _you?_"

Volta didn't respond immediately. His thoughts swirled with new information and theories, ideas and calculations. But he put it all aside and focused on the question.

Who was he?

A cold-hearted assassin? A righteous vigilante? A scattered survivor?

"…I can't answer you," he responded. "Because I'm not entirely sure."

"Shishishishi! I like your honestly," the man laughed. "But you better find out soon. Only those who know will be able to withstand what's coming."

"What?"

The smile grew wider. "The awakening."

And without a further word, the man fell forward, right off the edge of the cliff. Volta stared after him in disbelief as the wind roared in his ears. His disbelief only increased as the man vanished, as if he had never been.

"Bloody christmas balls," he swore softly to himself. "Is everyone in this world a nutjob?"

.~===)==============={%}

No more wind whipped at Volta that night. Soon after the bizarre departure, Zoro hoisted himself up the mountain, just as battered as he had expected him to be. Four swords sat snug in his haramaki, and a walking staff lay clenched within his teeth.

He spat it out, took one of his black-hilted blades, and chopped it to pieces. He unsheathed another and ran them across each other, creating a spark that ignited the wood.

"Instant campfire," Volta grinned. "I like it."

"I don't," Zoro grumbled. "It's murder on my swords. Should have brought my flint and steel."

Volta sat next to his disgruntled partner. "Guess you didn't expect us to be out here this long."

"I wasn't expecting anything," Zoro admitted. "Except for pain." He grinned and winced at the same time. "Found it."

Volta winced as well, his own muscles throbbing and his lungs still burning. "Did you bring any water at least?"

Zoro nodded, pulling two glass bottles out of his haramaki. He tossed one to Volta, who uncorked it and sipped slowly.

"Smart," Zoro commented. "Don't want to throw it all up later." Then he proceeded to down his own water in three seconds flat.

Volta felt the all-too familiar sweat drop. "You have an amazing talent for ignoring your own advice," he snarked.

"Stomach training," Zoro grunted. "Have to strengthen…everything…possible…"

Volta rolled his eyes and continued to drink slowly. When the fire burned low, Volta tore off his shirt and added it to the wood. Zoro did the same, removing and then retying his bandana in the process.

"I met someone up here," he stated casually.

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Strange fellow, couldn't really make out his face too well. He had the ability to control wind."

"Wind control…" Zoro repeated, rubbing his stomach as he did so. "Did he make his cape flutter dramatically?"

Volta laughed, reigniting the inferno in his lungs. "So that's what he was doing!"

Zoro spit up his water. "Hahaha, really? I was just being sarcastic!"

Volta laughed even harder. "He looked like a giant rag! A rag with teeth and long speeches!"

"HAHAHAHAHA!"

"FFFPAHAHAHA!"

Tears poured out of Volta's eyes, and his stomach cramped horribly. Zoro threw up the water he had tried to hold down, still laughing the whole time. The sight of it just made Volta laugh harder, so hard that he fell forward, his whole body shaking.

"Fffpahahaha, man, I wish you had been up here."

"Hahahaha, I'm starting to wish that to, and your hair's on fire!"

Zoro wiped his mouth and took a deep breath. Then he did a double-take.

"AAAAH, YOUR HAIR'S ON FIRE!"

"AAAAAAAAAAH!"

"AAAAAAAAAAH!"

Volta dropped to the ground, rolling vigorously. Unfortunately, this only placed his tattered pant leg a bit too close to the dying flame.

"AAAAH, NOW YOUR LEG IS ON FIRE!"

"_AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"_

Zoro experienced the strange sensation of screaming and laughing at the same time. His panicked mirth did little to help Volta's situation, but thankfully the hunter was able to pat out the flames before they did too much damage. He fell onto his back with a groan.

As the smoke cleared, Zoro roared. A triangle of singed skin shone right above Volta's forehead, an inversed widow's peak where his hair had begun. Damn you

"HAHAHAHAHAHA! I've heard of early receding lines, but nothing like this! You look like someone tried to clip your bangs with a cookie cutter!"

"Verdammt nochmal," Volta seethed, wincing as he poked the burned area.

"No, worse! It looks like you tried to twirl your blade to show off, but you lawn-mowed yourself in the attempt!"

Volta's pale complexion turned red.

"Alright, alright," Zoro wheezed, his face far redder. "I'm done."

Volta sighed in exasperation. "Thank you."

"I will note, however," the swordsman continued mischievously, "My disappointment that you didn't lean in a bit more. Could have had a reverse mohawk going."

Volta punched him in the face. He landed backward with a thud, his hair dangerously close to the embers. All the glee drained from his features, as the incensed hunter grabbed him by the shoulders. "No, wait!" Zoro cried in alarm. "Don't you dare-"

"I dare."

"NOOOOOO!"

.~===)==============={%}

The night grew hot, but that suited the two hunters just fine. The moon and the stars illuminated the summit, giving them light even as the last ember died out.

Zoro rubbed his new bald spot with a sigh. "I suppose it's what I deserve. Once we get back to the base, I'll buy something to fix our hair."

"I'm not that concerned," Volta said. "If teeth can regrow, so can hair, I suppose."

Crickets chirped in the distance. Zoro yawned and stretched like a cat, staring at the sky with a peaceful smile on his face. "Yeah."

Volta watched the moon rise ever so slowly across the sky. "It's beautiful," he whispered. "What a sight."

"I suppose," Zoro commented. "You sound like you've never seen the moon before."

"Haven't in a while," Volta reminded.

Zoro nodded, frowning in thought. "True…you know, occasionally, a second moon appears."

Volta nodded, his eyes widening a bit at the idea. "Yeah, I know."

"No you don't," Zoro stated. "Because there is no second moon. It's only a half-baked theory cooked up by half-wit astrologists. Some of them think there's as many of _five _moons in the sky, all circulating around at different times."

The swordsman turned to Volta, his face stern but not unkind. And yet, the slightly older hunter still found himself withering under the expression. "Zoro-"

"It's alright," he continued gruffly. "I knew from the onset that your story had some holes. I didn't dwell on it too much because of how genuine you seemed to be otherwise."

Volta said nothing.

"Heh, it's funny," Zoro whispered. "I thought it would be hard for me to have to rely on someone again, after all this time. But that wasn't the case at all." He smiled softly. "It's nice, having someone to talk to. Someone to travel with."

A warm breeze blew over the summit. "Yeah," Volta agreed. "I feel the same."

As the moon rose ever higher, Volta promised himself he would tell Zoro the truth one day. Maybe soon, but one day.

With this thought resting on his mind, Volta drifted into a dreamless sleep.

Zoro remained awake, his thoughts dipping into the gloom of the past. "Kuina," he murmured. "I've made a friend. I think he's gonna help us achieve our dream." He turned to stare at Volta one more time. He didn't snore. He didn't even seem to breathe. His body appeared to hold all the life of a corpse.

"I wonder if we can help him the same way." With this last utterance, Zoro too fell into sleep's embrace.

.~===)==============={%}

The _Wind Granma _coasted through the light-reflecting water. Beer Town vanished, a speck behind the sails no more.

The man watched it disappear, then looked up at the stars.

"Soon," he muttered. "So very, very soon…"

.~===)==============={%}

"Nice picture," Volta commented. He scanned the recently delivered newspaper, while Zoro paid the seagull that had done the delivering. The bird wore a white hat and a small bag full of the rolled-up news, equipped with a large side-pocket for money. Volta watched the bird fly away, joining its brethren in the sky.

"They're called news coos," Zoro explained. "All newspapers use them for delivering to ships and boathouses."

"What a charming idea," Volta said. "Though I bet it's not very efficient during bad weather."

Zoro nodded. "That does keep people behind sometimes, but the coos are quick to get people up to date when the weather clears. Ah, we're here!"

And indeed, they were. They had seen and heard the Kingdom from afar, but now it stretched before them, a three-island archipelago filled with the sound of chickens. Volta realized with some amusement that it was the third food-themed location he had been to so far.

Tamago, like many words and names found around the world, comes from the Tongue of Wano, the language spoken in Wano Kuni. The land possesses a unique, intriguing culture, and holds fast to an isolationist policy, designed to keep foreign peoples from influencing it in any way.

This policy has worked, but, unbeknownst to the people of Wano, it has also done the exact opposite of their fears. The country's exotic nature has led many to copy its elements, and hundreds of discreet, illegal visitations to the land and back have spread those elements, until they have become almost universally recognized. For example, Marine Headquarters, the largest and most important facility for Marine activity worldwide, is styled after an ancient Wano pagoda, it's vast walls covered with Wano letters, known as Kanji.

In this specific instance, tamago is Wano's word for egg, which coincidentally, happens to be one of the few words of Japanese Volta knows. The Kingdom's history is rather macabre, a long list of bloody coups, bloodier beheadings, and the bloodiest, cruelest egg-eating contest in the East Blue's recent memory.

This last event took place in 1435, when King Avgó was challenged to the contest by his cousin, the Earl of Yokington. The challenge was to consume uncooked eggs until one could do so no more, and the prize was the throne itself. Avgó agreed to the challenge, and the two faced off in Yokington square, each before a table piled high with the eggs.

The contest lasted for three hours, neither opponent backing down, hundreds upon hundreds of eggs consumed. In his haste to beat his opponent, Avgó decided to start swallowing eggs whole, shell and all, trusting his well-tuned digestive system to do the work for him. This was a fatal error. Not because he couldn't swallow them, or couldn't digest them, but because Avgó had trusted his cousin.

For you see, amongst the eggs on Avgó's table, were several fertilized ones near the bottom, filled not with yoke but with chicks about to hatch. But not ordinary chicks, oh no, these were the chicks of the vile Chickantazors, hideous snake-like creatures that dwelled in the rocks under the kingdom. When Avgó swallowed one of these eggs, the chick reacted, bursting out of its shell and eating the contents of his stomach, before consuming the stomach lining and burrowing into his intestines. Then, when it had hollowed out the foolish king, it ripped itself out of his crotch and was immediately killed by Yokington soldiers. The Earl took the throne after slaughtering Avgó's family, and his line has ruled since that day.

Volta, not knowing this horrid history, was instead interested in geography. The Kingdom stretched itself over three small islands, each one elevated by tall yellow rock surrounded by white sand; if viewed from above, the archipelago looked like three eggs in the sunny-side-up fashion. On these rocks squatted large cities, connected by white arching bridges adorned with eggs and skillets sculped from marvel. The buildings of the cities themselves, formed from white stone, had a similarly rounded shape, but unlike Lettuce Town the greenery was kept to a minimum, relegated to the small lawns and grassy lots that blanketed the outcroppings. Many of the buildings seemed to hang off the sides of the steep yellow cliffs, a long drop to the sand below, where thousands of chickens clucked and ate, divided into farming lots that surrounded the cities.

The docks sat downward from the closest city, a large staircase hewn from the rock leading up into it. Zoro folded the newspaper and tucked it into his haramaki, before walking down the gangplank. Volta grabbed the thick leather suitcase beside him and moved down after him, his rapier in his other hand.

Both hunters walked across the wooden platforms of the harbor, right above a sea of birds that rattled their eardrums. The both grabbed some earplugs from a vendor, only a hundred berries each. It didn't silence the birds, but it quieted them enough for the hunters to walk in peace.

"Finally, we're where we need to be," Zoro said, rolling his shoulder until it cracked. His injuries had fully healed, barring his stomach scar, and Volta was the same.

"Can't believe we got laid up for three days," Volta continued. "We only have about a week left to get this damn tree."

Zoro shrugged. "No use complaining. We have more than enough money for it."

"Yeah, almost twenty million. In hindsight, we might not have been able to afford it if we had come straight here. We don't even know how much a Tamago Tree costs."

"I can tell you that," a young man stated from behind them. Volta and Zoro turned.

A man stood before them, though Volta couldn't remember seeing him on the passenger ship. He wore a navy-blue suit with a white button up underneath, the top opened and tieless. He had a handsome face and seemed about as old as Zoro. He stared intently with grey-blue eyes, though one was hidden by a sweep of blonde hair. Interestingly, his right eyebrow formed an outward spiral. Volta wondered if it did that naturally.

"The tree venders are on the edge of the market," he drawled, pointing toward the left bridge. "Right beside the Omelet Overlook." Sure enough, a small forest sprouted just in front of the vast construct.

Volta frowned in thought, not just on the directions, but on the sound of the words themselves. The man sounded about as American as Zoro himself but tinged with a slight French accent. He looked French too, in complete contrast with Zoro, who looked Japanese.

Of course, Volta knew neither country existed in this world. Ocha, or Tybalt, must have drawn from those places. He wondered if a strange, fantastical version of Austria existed.

The thought sent a pang of homesickness through him, but a shake on the shoulder from Zoro knocked him out of it. The 'French' man looked impatient; Volta noticed a large suitcase of his own in his left hand.

"Sorry," he spoke softly. "Thank you for your directions. My name is Damian Volta. Bounty hunter." He shook the man's hand; it felt soft yet calloused, as if it had been moisturized.

"Roronoa Zoro, also a hunter" the swordsman grunted, his eyes wary. He too shook the man's hand.

"Sanji," the man replied, looking a bit wary himself. "Sous chef of the Baratie."

"Just Sanji?" Volta inquired.

For just the briefest of moments, something seemed to shift in the chef's behavior. His eyes chilled, and his smile twitched. It lasted less than a second. "Just Sanji."

Volta merely nodded. "You look like you're here on official business."

Sanji relaxed. "Yeah. Getting eggs and new spoons for the restaurant, on orders from the shitty geezer who runs it."

Damian didn't dare correct his language.

"Have you been here before?" Zoro asked.

"Twice," Sanji responded. "With the geezer and without him. I can show you around if you want."

Zoro was about to decline, but Volta stopped him with a glare. He had a feeling letting Zoro lead would be dangerous. "Thanks, we'll take you up on that."

The three young men walked up the stone stairs together, Sanji in the lead by a step. "This road takes you directly to the main plaza. There's a fountain there; take the road directly left of it and you'll get to the Tamago Trees."

"Does every island in this sea have a fountain?" Volta asked bemusedly.

"No, I've been to a few without them," Zoro responded. "But I see them more often than not. Why, do they bother you?"

"Not at all," Volta amended. "It's just interesting. Now that I think about it, I've yet to see a globe."

Zoro frowned. "Now that I think about it, I've never laid eyes on one either."

"Seriously?!" Votla sputtered. "Didn't you learn geography in your dojo?"

The swordsman shrugged. "Not too much of it. I can name the five oceans and the continent, but I don't know much about the ones I'm not living in."

"Well, I know less then you; Austria was isolated, remember?"

Zoro nodded, his brow scrunched up in remembering. "This is the way my sensei taught me. Imagine a ball, perfectly round and blue. Now, wrap a red, jagged belt across it. Then wrap two white, straight belts perpendicular to the red belt. The red belt it the continent, the Red Line, and the space between the two white belts is the fifth ocean, the Grand Line. The four parts it separates the ball into are the first four oceans, the Blues."

Volta understood perfectly; the image filled him with awe. "Incredible…a planet of ocean…"

Sanji gave him a strange look but made no comment.

"Exactly," Zoro continued, genuinely delighted he had made sense. "We're in the East Blue right now, and we can't travel to the others because of the Grand and Red Lines."

The paler hunter nodded, then frowned. "I assume the Red Line is impassable, otherwise you'd say we could just travel over it on foot."

Zoro nodded.

"But what's stopping us from passing through the Grand Line?"

The swordsman paused, considerate. He shook his head. "Don't know. All I know about the Grand Line is that it's the place Roger hid his treasure, and that it's called the Pirates Graveyard because it's hard to traverse."

"Hmm…the World Government, I'm sure they have a capital. Where is it located?"

"On the Red Line. According to my sensei, it's sheer, red rock, higher than any mountain. But the Government found a way, and now no one can attack them there."

"That's brilliant," Volta complimented. "An unreachable seat of power _and _a worldwide military force? How long has it been around?"

Zoro shrugged again. "Can't say. Don't know what the capital is called either. Like I said, I wasn't really into that kind of stuff."

"You don't give yourself enough credit," Volta chuckled. "At least I know where I am. What's the capital of the East Blue?"

Zoro shook his head. "Doesn't work like that; the World Government is in charge, but most places largely run themselves without interference. There are thousands of islands in the East, but only a few are full-fledged countries that get representation."

Volta scowled. "Thousands of tax-paying islands, but only a few legitimate countries. Taxation without representation is what led to a lot of conflict in the history of…my own island."

"I hate to interrupt your shitty geography lesson," Sanji said without any heat. "But we're at the top of the stairs."

And indeed, they were.

.~===)==============={%}

While the three young men began their journey into the Tamago Kingdom, two very different figures lay within its midst, engaged in a game of target practice.

_PINK!_

"I'm worried."

_PINK!_

"You're always worried."

_PINK!_

"No, this time, I'm _really _worried."

_PINK!_

"Those hunters?"

_PINK!_

"Hell yeah those hunters! They got the Bowi Family, and not just a few of 'em, the whole fucking flock!"

_PINK!_

"That was in Beer Town. Doubt they'll come here."

_PINK!_

"You don't know that."

He flicked another marble, the rhythmic sound of the clinking soothing his anxious mind. But not this time; it bounced off the side of the wastebasket with an eerie _BONG_, rolling on the ground and disappearing under a cabinet. He swore.

"Calm yourself," his friend said. "Think rationally. Yeah, we're pretty close to Beer Town, less then a day's travel, but so is Sorbet Town. And Lettuce Town is only a little farther. They could go to those places too. And besides…"

He flicked another shot, much harder than he had before. It punctured the side of the front door with a _THUD. _"They won't last against us."

The first flicker continued searching under the cabinet, his arm squeezed by the tight space. "Albedya had one of those magic vegetables some guys won't fuckin shut up about, and he _still _fuckin lost! We ain't got shit but these balls, man!"

"Fruits, Copasta, fruits. Who told you they were vegetables?"

Copasta rose to his feet. Tall, thin, and very gangly, his red business suit hung off of him limply. His tie had bowling balls imprinted on it, and his hair was a shock of red, spiked and expertly greased. His face seemed to leer, even as he spoke fearfully. "Dammit old man, you ain't taking this seriously! We have a serious fuckin problem here! Two hunters just took down one of the biggest bosses in this part of the East and are now loose to do it again. Those fuckers are _strong; _we need to protect our turf in case they strike us!"

"We don't even have any turf, you fool," Horasha responded. A much shorter, much smarter man then his compatriot, his blue blazer seemed stretched to the breaking point. The large bulbous nose on his face obscured his undersized mouth; to those facing him directly, he looked like he was speaking from his nostrils. "We're assassins."

"Don't give me that crap!" Copasta spit out. "We've been squatting in this fuckin kingdom for months now! Who are we even supposed ta be killing, huh?!"

"He up and died on his own," Horasha replied gruffly. "Heart attack. Now we're just waiting for a new job to come in."

As if he had summoned the messenger himself, a knock rang on the door. Immediately a pocket knife slipped into Copasta's fingers. Horasha jumped down from the table and waddled over to the door, peeking out of the hole he had made in it. "Who's there?"

"Your Aunt Grandma Kitty-Kat."

"Kitty with a K?"

"K-K."

Horasha glared at Copasta, now looking very sheepish. "Speak of the Devil," he muttered, before tapping three times on the door. A slip of paper slid under it, and the messenger started to walk away.

Horasha picked up the paper and unfolded it, reading carefully. His eyes widened. "I owe you an apology, Copasta."

His own eyes bulging, the anxious assassin grabbed the paper and scanned it. "Oh shit!" he bellowed. "Oh _shit!_"

"Keep your voice down," Horasha commanded. "And stop acting like a fool. This is what we've been waiting for, and we'll do it without question."

"I hate our job," Copasta whimpered.

His partner sighed, feeling a bit more compassionate. "Hey, don't be down on yourself. You're a great assassin; the best in this kingdom, at least."

Copasta perked up. "Better then you, dad?"

Horasha chuckled. "Yeah, once you cool off. Don't despair; fruit or no fruit, it's just a couple of snot-nosed brats, even younger then you. Let's get'im."

The younger assassin grinned, then reached over and grabbed his bag of marbles. "Yer right…I'm getting too stressed about nuthin. We'll fuckin paint the town with 'em!"

"We need to be discreet," Horasha reminded. "They're young, fresh hunters who probably got lucky with Albedya…I bet the Marines did most of the work. Hell, the only reason we know that they did him in is because the coroner there let us know. According to this note, they're here for a Tamago Tree; we'll pose as guides and lead them into an alley. There, we finish them, marbles to the brains."

Copasta snickered darkly, three little, metallic balls rolling in his fingers already. "Whatever you say dad."

The father burned the note, and the duo left their apartment on the edge of town, diving into the bustling city with murder on their minds.

.~===)==============={%}

Speaking of the city, it seemed to surround the three young men entering it, like a runny egg around a piece of fruit on the breakfast plate. But unlike the industrial and claustrophobic Beer Town, Tamago had enough space to walk around comfortably, unhindered by large mobs of citizens and workers. The yellow stone had been smoothed over, dozens of lovely white buildings built comfortably on it. The squawk of the chickens had been reduced to almost pleasant background noise.

Still, Volta noted a few with patios that hovered over the great yellow cliffs, children playing on them blissfully. It sent a shiver down his spine; he had never been a fan of heights, especially ones that exceeded five hundred meters. He breathed heavily from the long walk up.

"…hmmm." Zoro glared at the back of Sanji's head. Eventually, the chef noticed, much to his frustration. "Got a problem?"

"Not really," the swordsman muttered. "It's just…that eyebrow…I feel like I've seen it before."

The guide became very rigid, his face turning to stone. His left foot started tapping the ground. "…yeah? Where exactly have you seen it?"

Zoro continued to stare, Sanji staring right back with a look that might have killed a lesser man. The foot started tapping even faster.

"Yes, I definitely recognize it. Only one kind of person would have that kind of eyebrow."

Sanji's eyes shone with a cold fire. He started to raise his foot…

"You're a hypnotist, aren't you?"

And dropped it with an audible thud. The look of barely suppressed rage flooded out of him, replaced with a distinctly natural expression. He gave Zoro an even flatter stare then before. "Damn…you got me."

Zoro blinked. "I did?"

"I am really Sanjino, Master of the Mind. I can peer into your soul and strangle it with my own. My power over matter cannot be rivaled by the strongest man."

The swordsman could barely contain his shock. "Really?"

"HELL NO, YOU SHITTY MOSSHEAD!" _SLAM!_

"AAAH! THAT HURT, YOU STUPID CURLY-BROW!"

Volta, continuing to stare at the ocean from one of the city's breathtaking balconies, failed to notice the intense rivalry born that day. He certainly noticed a fair number of lumps and bruises when he resumed walking with them toward the city square, but he didn't make any comments. He had the feeling it would be unwise.

.~===)==============={%}

Deeper into the city they traveled, Sanji and Zoro now getting into arguments every five minutes or so. Volta tuned them out, content to watch the city for possible dangers. He felt relieved as they walked further toward the center of the great elevated rock, away from the edges. The more relaxed he became, the more observant he grew of the city around him.

Most of the buildings were made from the same material he had guessed earlier, white marble, but a few had the look of painted stone. The streets had become tiled fifty feet from the stairs, the naturally yellow rock now covered with a colorful array of squares.

The dress of the people was uniformly white, yellow, and orange, arranged into tunics and long dresses that reached just short of sandal-covered feet. Foreigners walked the streets in large numbers as well, many wearing more traditional modern clothing, such as jeans, hoodies, and even the occasional tank-top. Two men in particular, one much older than the other, wore business attire, a blue blazer and red suit respectively.

A couple of barking dogs ran under a cow-pulled cart on the left side of the road, a cat scurrying over the roof ledges ahead of them. Volta watched the agile creature leap from building to building, a graceful feline unbothered by the snarling creatures below it.

"MEOOW!"

The sudden cry, coupled with the jerk of its body, caused Volta to stop in his tracks, staring it horror as the animal fell to the ground, trailing blood in the air above it. It hit with a thud, it's skull audibly cracking on the hard tiles. A few nearby children screamed. They screamed even louder when the dogs started tearing into the corpse.

"Damn," Sanji muttered, looking sorrowed by the sight. "Unlucky bastard. Hope his last meal wasn't shitty garbage…"

Zoro continued to stare as Sanji walked onward, his face as serious as when he had stared death in face at Beer Town. "Volta-"

"Yeah," the hunter affirmed. "That was no accident. Its body shook, and when it fell blood was already pouring out."

"It got shot," Zoro growled. "What kind of bastard shoots a cat?"

"The kind that doesn't care about life," Volta said. "And if the shooter is willing to murder a cat for no reason…"

"He or she may see humans as animals too," Zoro finished. "That's kind of a leap though. Could have just been some kid. Some of them can be really cruel before they mature."

"Don't think so," Volta continued. He and Zoro started walking again, then running briefly so they could catch up with Sanji. "The body jerked up and from the side. A diagonal shot, from that distance, strong enough to blow a hole through a cat? _Noiselessly?_"

"Kid would have to have fantastic aim," Zoro thought. "A slingshot maybe?"

"Stretched that much, I feel like we would have heard it," Volta figured.

Zoro shook his head. "It couldn't have been thrown."

Volta nodded in agreement. "I'm not sure, but someone very dangerous is in this city."

"Do you think it has anything to do with us?" Zoro asked.

"No, I don't. But that's always a possibility. We took out Albedya, but it's unlikely he operated completely outside the larger criminal underworld of this area, despite his secrecy. So, if he had friends, such as fellow bosses he played cards with perhaps, it would stand to reason those bosses would want Albedya's killers dead."

Zoro rubbed his forehead. "Damn, this is a hell of a lot more complicated than just tracking down purse-snatchers."

"Excuse me," someone said from behind the two of them. Volta and Zoro turned. Before them were the two men Volta had spotted before, the young one in the red suit and the older one in the blazer. They looked relaxed, their hands in their pockets. "You two seem lost. Have you been here before?"

"Nope," Zoro replied. "But we've already gotta guide, that bastard up ahead."

Sanji muttered something coarse under his breath, but he nodded in agreement. "Very kind of you two to offer that, but I've got these shitty guys covered." He smiled pleasantly. "You can go about your business."

The older man shrugged with a smile of his own. "Just trying to be a good neighbor. Come on Copasta, I believe the trees are up ahead."

Volta blinked. "Trees? Say, we're looking to buy a tree too!"

"Really?" the older man guffawed. "Yutyutyut, what a coincidence!"

Zoro nodded. "Sure is. Wanna join us?"

"Don't see why not," the older fellow said. "My name is Yut-Yot Horasha. This here is my son, Copasta." The younger man smiled in greeting, though it looked a bit eerie. _His face is shaped oddly, _Volta thought.

Sanji shrugged. "Whatever. I need to stop and get some eggs at the town square, you all can follow the left road from there, kay?"

"Sure, bud." Copasta stated gruffly, his smile looking even more strained. His hands sunk deeper into his pockets. "Lead the way."

The five of them continued forward, the father-son duo waddling and swaggering right beside the hunters. Sanji pulled a cigarette from his pocket, lighting up while muttering to himself about 'shitty tagalongs.' Volta politely ignored him.

"I've been to the Tamago Kingdom plenty of times in the past," Horasha explained. "It's beautiful this time of year, with spring in full bloom. Just look at all those flowers." He pointed toward a cavalcade of pink and purple verbenas.

"They're nice," Volta agreed. "Though I do wonder how safe it is to build houses so close to the edge of the cliffs."

"Oh, they're safe enough," Copasta answered. "The kids learn quick not to do anything too stupid."

Volta pursed his lips. "Kids are rambunctious little daredevils. I'm not sure I agree with that statement."

"What, ya gonna argue with a veteran Tamago visitor?" Copasta sneered.

"Copa, please," Horasha reprimanded. "Don't be rude."

Copasta squeezed his eyes shut, before exhaling loudly. "Sorry," he said in a semi-sincere tone. "I've been here many times, I ain't never heard of any kids falling off the cliffs to their deaths. That's all I meant."

Volta nodded. "I understand. Thank you for explaining."

"Sure."

Sanji and Zoro had by this time engaged in another argument, this time over _shoes _of all things. Volta tuned it out, but he could feel his frustration building. Seriously, they had just met the guy! It was like they were enemies in another life or something, and Volta didn't even believe in reincarnation.

"YELP!"

The sudden cry turned quite a few heads. A dog jumped up and down, barking in pain. Volta blanched; its left front paw had been blown off.

"What the fuck?!" Copasta exclaimed. "What the hell…the fuckin hell…"

Horasha patted him on the back. "Atrocious," he growled. "This has been happening for months now; random animals shot from bizarre angles. Some sort of psycho is loose in this kingdom."

Zoro nodded, his eyes searching the gathering crowd. Volta did the same. Everyone around them stared in varying levels of dismay, but some only paused for a few sorrowful seconds before moving on with their business. _They're used to it, _Volta thought. _Have they given up trying to find the culprit?_

Something caught Zoro's eye, a glint that moved on the titled ground. He pushed his way gently through the crowd, mindful of his sheathed swords, until he was right in front of it. He picked it up, rushing back to his companions.

"Volta, take a look at this." A small marble, metallic and stainless; the blood had rolled off of it. Volta picked it out of Zoro's hands, frowning at it thoughtfully. "A bearing ball," he whispered. "A nasty weapon in the right slingshot, or even hands."

He placed it in the middle of his palm, rolling it around. Then he spun it. Then he placed it on a curled-up finger and flicked it right into the building behind him. The force of his strike embedded the marble deep into the wall, cracking the edges of the impact spot. A sudden sheen of sweat appeared on Copasta's forehead, unnoticed by the others. His father gave his arm a pinch, and the young assassin wiped his brow nonchalantly. "Holy shit," he said. "Ya saying someone could _flick _those damn things so hard they kill animals?"

"I'm a bit stronger than the average person," Volta admitted. "I think our psycho is too. Say, Zoro, after we deliver the tree, want to come back here and track the guy down?"

The swordsman huffed. "Screw that; let's find him before we even buy the tree. If he's using a slingshot, all we have to do is find a guy with one. If it's his fingers, I bet they're pretty calloused due to constantly flicking metal off them." He held up his own, rather calloused fingers.

Volta nodded. "That's a good point."

"GAH!"

The sudden, extremely loud shout, from none other than Sanji of all people, startled the other four men. But none so badly as Copasta; already nervous, the man jumped a full six inches off the ground, letting out a shout of his own. He landed with a thud, his left hand still in his pocket.

_Clink_

Sanji blew out a stream of smoke, his expression dead serious. "Sorry about that. By the way, is there something metallic in your pocket? I heard a clinking noise." He pointed at the pockets in question. "By the way, I've noticed you've had your hands in your pockets the entire time we've been together. Could it be to hide callouses on your fingertips?"

The moment of silence that followed that not-so-innocuous question could have been measured in minutes. The look of smug satisfaction on Sanji's face perfectly contrasted with Copasta's stark look of terror, his left arm shaking and his legs wobbling. Horasha's stoic indifference broke like a rusted padlock. Zoro and Volta nearly cracked the tiles with their jaws.

Then, as one, they _moved._

.~===)==============={%}

Clear, blue sky. The glorious expanse that filled Volta with such joy and wonder, such deep satisfaction after years of starvation. It spread out endlessly over a vast sea, a strong wind, and a lonesome, golden ship.

Partially golden, in any case. Most of the hull and masts shone a deep, polished brown, the sails a gleaming white and the sides streaked royal blue. The gold was consolidated on the bow, formed into the head of a fierce falcon.

Heavily ornate wings jutted out behind it, encrusted with a variety of jewels collectively worth more than a dozen islands. And yet, the shining decorations seemed more tasteful when examined closely, as if they had been embedded purposefully, drawing the eye in deeper instead of forcing it away.

Golden claws hung loosely, but they too carried a sense of purpose. And unlike the wings, they actually had one; anchors that could be lowered on gilded chains.

The ship's size awed a passing fisherman, its height and length nearly unimaginable to him. Then he recognized the purple symbol embedded on the side of the sterncastle, and his lips twisted in a sneer. He spat a glob of phlegm at the ship, which fell far short but was not unnoticed by a woman on deck.

"Sir, a peasant has displayed hostile intent," she intoned. "Shall I command the gun deck to remove him?"

"No. If it's harmless, he's free to act upon his opinions."

The woman nodded, setting down her telescope and gliding toward her master. "How are you feeling today, sir?"

The man chuckled. "You ask me this so often today, Zuzy. Do I seem under the weather to you?"

"Not at all sir," she responded stiffly. "I simply do not understand your current intentions. Why are we in the East Blue? You promised you would explain that to me."

The man nodded, his smile relaxed and genuine. "All in good time, Zuzy. Have faith; this trip is what I've been waiting my whole life for."

Zuzy returned the smile. "That makes me so glad to hear, sir. Your happiness is my happiness."

"And yours is mine."

The woman nodded, walking away quickly to hide her blush.

"Ah, Zuzy, could you get Holier up here?"

"Of course," she responded, bowing slightly. "What for?"

"This passage…" the man frowned, his expression slightly perplexed. "I don't quite understand it. I would like an explanation from him."

Zuzy bowed once more and turned to find the person in question.

The man set down his book, a holy text from the island of Nosferatiel, on a nearby coffee table. He watched the seagulls soar through the sky, and turned his mind toward the work he needed to do.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Listening to the YMCA song while writing this chapter was weird. Avgo is Greek for egg. **

**Also, for you only readers, I strongly encourage you to check out these chapters on Spacebattles and Sufficient Velocity. Much like This Bites! and other such fics, I've created artwork for this series that can't be appreciated here. That's about it.**

**Yeomanaxel, the Verified Yeo. **


	5. Tamago Tree Arc Part 2

**Chapter 5 – The Gunslinger**

The personalities and objectives of the five individuals played a big part in what occurred next.

Copasta acted on instinct, relying on his natural talent to take down his enemy. Unfortunately, his shaken nerves impeded him. What should have been a shot through the neck turned into a graze off the shoulder. The spin he gave it only tore through Sanji's suit jacket, before jetting off into the alleyway.

But before that, at the moment that marble twisted the jacket's fibers out of alignment, Sanji's shoe, reinforced with steel on the toe and the heel, completed a devastating uppercut to Copasta's chin. His lower jaw snapped in two, rupturing the bottom gums and sending his front teeth shooting into the sky.

Horasha had less talent but far greater practice. Recovering quickly from the shock of being discovered so soon, he shot off two marbles from his hands, one for Zoro's chest and one for Volta's. Regardless of his condition, he would see his mission complete.

He stood a mere three feet away from his targets. Zoro knew he wouldn't be able to get his swords out in time, so he twisted his body instead, turning to the side in order to avoid a fatal blow.

Fortunately, the blow never struck. Volta jumped in front of the shot, trusting in his tattoos to bear the brunt of the impacts. The marble that should have gone through his heart instead hit his side and the marble for Zoro slammed into his upper ribs.

The balls' spinning caused the protective tattoos to warp into twin swirling patterns. Volta grunted in pain as he felt something crack inside of him, the kinetic force knocking him back into Zoro and sending both tumbling to the ground.

"Copasta!" Horasha cried, finally noticing his son's condition. The nineteen-year-old screamed in pain and collapsed onto the ground, blood splurting from his lip. The older assassin snarled and jerked his arm, two more marbles popping from his sleeve into his fingers. "You'll pay for that, you bastard!"

Sanji had already recovered from his kick. He spun around and launched his other leg right into Horasha's stomach. A marble nipped his head, drawing a small spray of blood. Another went wild, shattering a vase on the other side of the street. Horasha flew through the air and into the opposing wall, breaking the brick. He coughed up a glob of blood, then crumpled like a sheet, limp on the ground.

Volta struggled to his feet, his chest dripping. He stared in shock at the marbles, buried halfway into his chest. The tattoos writhed around the metal, and with a jolt forced them out. Then they filled in the wounds, stemming the flow of blood. "Stranger and stranger," he muttered to himself. Zoro walked over to the screaming assassin and slammed his palm into his nose, breaking it and knocking him out.

"Thanks," Sanji muttered, hand over his bleeding head. "He was starting to give me a headache."

Zoro nodded. "Assassins," he muttered. "Poor ones at that."

Volta turned the older man over. "This one was far more dangerous. Perhaps a mentor and student relationship?"

"I believe they mentioned they were father and son," Sanji corrected. "Though it's possible they were lying. No way to tell."

Volta scanned the area. A crowd had formed, looking frightened and bewildered. "Bounty business," Damian stated with a smile. "Nothing to worry about; just keeping the streets clean of crime." A small cheer arose from the back, and the people dispersed, looking relieved.

"Smooth," Zoro commented. He hoisted Horasha onto his shoulders. "Let's turn these guys in and figure out what's going on here."

"You can if you want," Sanji grunted. "I've got eggs to buy." He walked off in a puff of smoke. "Don't bother thanking me; just trying to protect my own neck."

Zoro snorted. "Whatever you say…curly-brow." This last insult, he whispered under his breath. Volta grabbed Copasta, and the two carried the unconscious assassins down the street. Sanji didn't look back.

"Hey, wait a minute," Volta said. "Do you know where the government building on this island is?"

"No clue," Zoro responded. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Maybe it's…that way." He started going left.

Volta immediately went right. He found the building two minutes later.

.~===)==============={%}

It turned out to be another Marine base, but much smaller than the one in Lettuce Town. A squat cylinder on the edge of the city, a single cannon affixed to the side, it still looked prepared for an attack. Volta showed the soldiers at the front gate his badge and reported the incident to them.

In almost no time at all he found himself in a cell, the young assassin strapped to a chair and facing a gruff Marine officer. His wrinkled coat and unshaven face only seemed to heighten his intimidation factor, in Volta's opinion.

"So…what's your name, kid?" The officer poured a glass of water for Copasta as he spoke. "And what's the name of your partner?"

"I an't sayin shat," he sneered, his broken jaw garbling his words.

The officer nodded. "That's understandable; unlike pirates, you lot are strangely averse to ratting each other out." He drank the glass in one gulp. "Course, you're not getting anything to drink until you talk."

Copasta glowered, his busted lips apparently sealed.

"His name is Yit-Yot Copasta," Volta answered for him. "At least, that's the name his father gave. He called himself Yit-Yot Horasha."

The officer nodded, still staring intently at the teenager. "Is that your real name or an alias?"

"Arh ya ears worken?" Copasta growled. "I. An't. Sayin-"

"Oh, I heard you," the officer interrupted. "And I don't really care."

"Perhaps a bit of torture will make him squeak," Volta suggested. "We can start with his fingernails."

The officer glared at the hunter as he poured another glass. "We're not G-5, Mr. Damian. That won't be necessary."

Volta had no idea what that was, but he didn't press the issue. He honestly wasn't sure what he was doing here in the first place. "I'll be back," he muttered, then stepped outside the cell and closed the bars behind him.

The prisoner hold had been carved into the vast rock the city sat upon, so Volta had to climb up a flight of stairs to get to ground level. As he exited, he glanced out a window and saw nothing but ocean, and a steep drop toward the sandy chicken farms below. Even now he could still hear their clucking.

Deciding on a whim to explore, he walked the layout of the base, hoping to gather more on the nature of the Marines. The interior had a more diverse color palette then the outside. The cafeteria had been painted emerald green, and a few of the officer rooms had maroon walls and beige ceilings. No men occupied them; the base appeared understaffed. Still, Volta didn't do much more then peer into these places, inching open the polished wooden doors that guarded them.

His walking ended in the courtyard, observing a small squad repeating a training drill, over and over again, under the watchful eye of a big-bellied instructor. "FASTER MAGGOTS!" He bellowed. "I WANNA SEE YOUR BLOOD SWEAT AND YOUR SWEAT CRY!"

"Doesn't matter the military," Volta whispered softly. "There's always an instructor from hell."

"Indeed," someone behind him agreed. A young Marine walked up to the resting bounty hunter. His shirt was soaked, but he didn't seem tired, and his steps had a lightness to them that spoke of dexterity. Volta could tell.

He stood tall, his face long and his nose prominent. Damian pegged him at seventeen, and noted, with some amusement, that he had shaped his impressive black sideburns into faces. Streaks of blond began behind them, creating the illusion of flowing, golden locks. Which meant the faces were those of a woman, most likely.

"That's a cool sword you've got there," the soldier commented.

"Thanks. I'm not entirely sure how to use it yet. When my teacher took me for some training, he got distracted by a bear and fought it for most of the day."

The Marine laughed at that, unsure if it was true but pretty funny regardless. "Are you a hunter? You've got the look of one."

Volta nodded. "For only a few days."

"Is it true that you took out a whole gang? It wasn't in the papers, but word travels fast from base to base."

Volta jumped up from the bench, stretching out his arms. "It wasn't just me, it was a group effort; I had help from my partner and a Marine battalion. What's your name?"

"Shoshinsha," the boy replied cheerfully. "But everyone calls me Sho."

"Why aren't you doing drills, Sho?"

"I'm not part of that squad," Sho explained. "My unit is in the barracks resting, but I wanted some fresh air." His light green eyes continued to wander to the sword, nestled in its thick-bottomed scabbard. "Want to do some actual sword training?"

"I'm down, so long as we don't get in trouble."

"It'll be fine! Hunters use the training yard all the time, so long as it's under two hours a day and away from official Marine activities."

Volta and Sho moved to a small ring, racks of cutlasses flanking it. Volta pulled out his sword, remembering the duel he had witnessed onboard the ship; Albedu had only used one hand. He fell into a stance, his sword pointed toward the sky.

Sho pulled a cutlass off the rack. It gleamed in the sunlight, a thick steel sword that was likely mass-produced, but not of negligible quality. The Marine symbol lay embedded in the bottom of the blade, right above the guard. "Rapier swordplay is very similar to cutlass swordplay," Sho explained. "The key difference lies in the physical movement most suited to the blade. For a rapier, that's thrusting. For a cutlass-"

"Cutting," Volta finished.

"Precisely," Sho smiled. "A rapier stance needs to be narrow, light-footed, and loose. Otherwise, you'll never be able to react in time to enemy attacks."

The private moved forward slowly, giving Volta ample time to block, which he did using the edge. Immediately the Great Grade Sword cut into the cutlass, doing nothing more than a nick but still startling both fighters. "Great Roger's Ghost!" Sho exclaimed.

"Sorry," Volta said, a little embarrassed. "This blade is supposedly one of the best in the world, according to Zoro."

Sho laughed again, a hearty sound. "Don't sweat it; we mess these things up all the time!" He shoved the damaged blade back into its slot roughly.

Five miles from the base, a vein bulged in Zoro's forehead.

"Why don't we both practice with the training swords," Sho suggested, pulling out two new ones and handing one off to the hunter. They resumed their stances, and the training began.

.~===)==============={%}

Immediately, one thing became increasingly clear; Volta had no idea what he was doing.

Well, at least from the waist up. As Volta himself had explained to Zoro, Bruce Lee used the principles of fencing to hone his unique fighting style, the one Volta had unleashed upon many a foe.

But while his legs and hips flowed naturally from movement to movement, his actual sword fighting proved erratic and uncoordinated. Time and time again he would launch a thrust too late or too early, leaving himself vulnerable to the deft strikes of the Marine private. Not that they did any damage, always stopping before Volta's ragged clothes, but the hunter began to simmer as the number of 'fatal blows' exceeded thirty.

"Your problem is the extra length," Sho explained. "You're used to fighting with your fists, and you know the range of them well. I want you to consider the blade an extension of yourself, something that's a part of you."

Volta nodded. "The person who taught me Jeet Kune Do had a distain for weapons of any sort. He said that a man that relies on more than his body will not respect his body, and cause it to wither under his own delusions."

Sho leaned against the rack. "And you don't agree?"

"No, but he wasn't fully wrong. I've encountered many people that became powerless without their weapons. Because they did not become weapons themselves."

The young Marine put his blade back, more carefully this time. "Between you and me, a lot of the Marines here are the same. They practice hand-to-hand combat, but most use it as a last resort. Including me, to be honest."

The young soldier walked to the bench and sat down, looking up to the sky with a thoughtful expression. "The Marine I admire most is Garp the Hero. He only uses his fists, and some say he can shatter mountains with them."

Volta nodded, once again lost but willing to learn. "Why is he called the Hero again?"

Sho laughed. "Come on, everyone knows that! Garp's the one that captured the Pirate King!"

Shocked, Volta also sat down on the bench, his mind already trying to make sense of the new information. There had already been a Pirate King? He hadn't even considered that idea. "Sho, about the Pirate King…I come from a land that was fairly isolated compared to the rest of the East Blue. I don't know much about the last Pirate King. Could you tell me about him?"

"Of course!" Sho exclaimed, stars lighting up in his eyes. "Gold Roger was one of the strongest pirates of his generation, no, the _strongest_. He conquered the entire Grand Line, a feat that many thought impossible, and gathered up a massive fortune on the final island in it. Garp eventually captured him, and he was executed right here in the East Blue, in the city of Loguetown."

The stars got brighter, and Sho spoke quietly, as if with deep reverence. "But before they stabbed through his heart, a man watching his death asked where he hid his fortune. And do you know what Roger said?"

_**You want my treasure? You can have it! I left everything I gathered in one place. Now you just have to find it!**_

Volta felt his eyes widen, as everything clicked together. "The One Piece," he whispered.

"Yes," Sho said. "And the person to find that treasure will become the next Pirate King."

The idea of a Pirate King still seemed absurd to Volta, but he couldn't argue with its surreal, romantic logic. Like everything in this world, it thrived on the ambition of the people, and that wasn't something that could be destroyed. Unless…

"I bet the Marines want to get it first," Volta realized. "And destroy it, so that another Pirate King can never be created."

Sho snapped his fingers. "Exactly. Gold Roger had a lot of allies back in the day, many of them almost as strong as himself. If that happens again, but the next King happens to despise the Government-"

"It will be war," Volta finished. "Perhaps greater war then what's happening now."

"And war kills people," Sho said. His expression grew somber as he watched the squad of stretching soldiers, in the middle of their cool-down exercises. "In order to achieve your dreams, you have to crush the dreams of others. That's the immutable truth of the world. I don't like killing, but I'm good at it, and if it means protecting the innocent, then that is what I will do."

"You don't sound so happy about it."

Sho shook his head. "My father, he used to be a Marine himself. But after being bested in a duel with a pirate, he realized he cared more about living then Justice, so he resigned to watch over my sister. Now he's just a part-time bounty hunter."

Volta nodded. "And you're doing this to honor your father?"

"Bagahahahaha, not in the least!" Sho leaned in closer. "Can I let you in on a little secret?"

"…sure."

Sho's smile grew wider, gaining a mischievous edge that set Volta on guard. "I'm not a Marine at all. I'm only posing as one. The real Sho is unconscious, stuffed into his own locker. I didn't hurt him too badly; the worse he'll suffer are some stiff joints and a bruised neck."

Volta recovered from his shock quickly, his expression becoming exceedingly deadpan. "And why the bloody hell would you tell me that? Now I'm going to have to arrest you."

The man posing as Sho waved his hand, in the universal 'banish the thought' gesture. "I like you Volta, and I'm not here to cause any trouble with the whitehats. I've been sent to eliminate Copasta and Horasha." He slipped a paper out of his Marine uniform, unfolded it, and handed it to Volta.

_Assassinate the Yit-Yot Family. They are an embarrassment to the Organization and have failed in their goals. _

_Kitty-Kat. _

"And now," Volta continued, his voice now deadpan. "You are showing me secret messages revealing the existence of an organization of criminals operating in the East Blue."

"I'm doing all of this because I'm confident you'll join me," the man explained. "I may have lied about my identity, but I truly do want to protect the people. Those two are scum; have you seen what Copasta's done to the animals of this Kingdom? Give him ten years, and he'll turn into a monster."

The man leaned even closer, until Volta could smell his breath. The mint was so strong it almost made him gag. "Go find you partner and kill Horasha, and I'll deal with Copasta. I'll give you half the Organization's reward, and more importantly, we'll both share the satisfaction of ridding the world of evil."

Beneath his shock at the sudden reveal, Volta did feel tempted. And he really didn't like either of the assassins, after they had tried to kill him and Zoro. Money was always going to be an issue, and any chance to get more should be taken. He certainly wasn't wrong about protecting the people.

And yet…

"Sorry," Volta said, and he did feel a little sorry. "Scum they may be, but they're under Marine protection now. And furthermore, helping criminals do something criminal is unbecoming of a profession bounty hunter like me."

The man sighed. "I guess I'll have to do it myself then. That's a shame; you're a cool guy."

"You're not half bad yourself." Volta punched him in the face. He flew off the bench, stuck the landing, and sprinted toward the building. Volta ran toward the racks and grabbed his sword, before running after him.

The man dived into a window, shattering it and rolling down the hallway, before taking off toward the lockers. He rounded a corner just as Volta jumped through himself.

The hunter turned his head in both directions, observing the glass littering the floor. A small drop of blood stained one of them, to the left. Volta took off down that hall until he came to an intersection. Thankfully, he could still follow the man, not with blood but with dust, for the sword ring had been barren and grassless.

He continued to run after him until he came to another intersection. And this one had a pair of dusty boots in the middle of it.

"Not bad," Volta muttered. He carefully looked down each hallway, searching for clues. But he couldn't fine any.

The hunter considered his issue carefully. If he was the man, where would he go? Right down to the cells to kill Copasta? It was a strong possibility, so Volta ran down what he hoped to be the right hall, toward the stairs leading to the lower levels.

It took him three minutes to find it, and when he did, it was at the same time as the assassin. Volta felt another sweatdrop form, for the man had exchanged his Marine uniform for his normal wear.

Not that the word normal could be used to describe the ludicrous garb, more so then any outfit Volta has seen so far. A black onesie covered everything but the head and hands, and his feet were encased in black boots with heart-shaped buckles and shiny spurs. Spiked cuffs adorned his wrists, and a white bandana covered in more hearts sat around his neck. His black hat, _also _decorated with a heart, had a golden star on the left side of it.

All of these details together would have made Volta break out in chuckles, but what kept him serious were the six guns strapped across his body, two at his hips and four under his shoulders. They gleamed brown and gold, off-setting the mostly colorless outfit.

"I've always preferred guns," the man drawled. He pulled one out slowly, cocking it with practiced ease. "Swords are nice, and I can use them in a pinch, but guns are quicker. They get the job done from a distance too."

"Guns or swords, you're not getting past me," Volta stated.

_BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!_

Six bullets shot across the hall, thudding into Volta's arms and chest. The force knocked him backwards, and he groaned softly.

The man sighed as he holstered his pistol. "If you lay still, you won't die. I didn't hit any vital organs. I really do like you, Volta. But a job's a job."

He began to walk down the steps, and almost reached the last one when his instincts screamed at him to turn around. He did so, just in time to see Volta fling himself down the stairwell feet first.

The man pulled out another gun, but too late. Boot connected with nose in a crunch, and the man flew down the remaining steps and hit the ground hard. Volta, his momentum stopped, clung to the railing and slid down it, before leaping off toward the man's stomach.

But he was too quick, rolling out of the way as Volta crashed down. His second gun having slid down the hall, he whipped out two more and fired a dozen shots, this time sending three at Volta's head.

The hunter raised his arms and threw himself sideways, all but four of the bullets hitting the wall behind him. At this point, the gunfire alerted the Marines guarding the cells, two young recruits and a seasoned officer, distinguishable from the interrogator by a thick mustache.

They raised their rifles at the intruder, Volta darting between them. "Cease fire!"

The man smiled, holstering his spent weapons and holding up his hands. Without warning, he clenched one into a first, and his wristband activated. A spike shot out like a harpoon, whizzing past the Marines and landing next to the gun he had lost before. It latched on magnetically, and as the three soldiers fired on the assassin, the spike began to reel in, hitting one of the Marines in the side of the head as it did so.

This sudden attack from behind distracted the Marines long enough for the man to reclaim his pistol, cock it, and fire three crippling shots at the soldiers, one for each left foot. Their own bullets hadn't even grazed him.

"Aaaagh, you bastard!" The officer bellowed.

The man shrugged. "I'm sure you'll recover; surgery has become ever more advanced since Vegapunk came onto the scene." He walked through the groaning bodies, kicking their rifles away as he did so. With a grunt, he realigned his nose, and wiped the blood from his face.

One of the Marines latched onto his ankle. "I know who you are," the mustachioed officer gritted out.

"Really?" The man questioned. "Cuz I was able to sneak in without even washing out my hair dye."

"I didn't recognize you at first," the officer said. "But I've seen those eyes before. Sharp, cunning eyes. I've only seen those eyes once before, but considering your age…you're Masterson's kid, Apprentison!"

The man paused, surprised. "That's right. How did you figure that out? Did you know my dad?"

"He worked with my base for a time." The officer groaned as he tried to sit up, blood pouring out of his boot. "He was the best shot in the East; damn shame he quit after he lost one measly fight."

"…what did you just say?"

"Everyone in the Navy knows the tale," the officer hissed. "Your father was a rising star; he could have been stationed at Headquarters if he wanted too. But when death came too close to him, he threw it all away, valuing his life over the lives the people he swore to protect." He spat onto the ground. "He was a _coward._ And now his son raids Marine bases? You're both utter disg-"

Whatever he had wanted to say next died with him, as the man unloaded his last three shots into his face. The sudden death of their superior killed the moans from the other two soldiers, their fear overriding any pain they felt.

"…listen closely," the man began, and his voice only chilled their hearts more. "I'm not exactly fond of the old man myself, for reasons I won't waste explaining to trash like you."

He whipped around, and the prone soldiers nearly squeaked at the hatred in his eyes. "But I'll be _damned _if I let you speak ill of him. He left the Marines to be there for his family, and that's an honorable reason as ever there was."

He leaned in close, locking eyes with the petrified men. "If you hear anyone on this base or any other base talk shit like that, please explain to them what I've just explained to you. Okay?"

The soldiers nodded quickly, and with that the man holstered his gun and walked down the hall. "Oh, one more thing," he added. "I don't go by Apprentison anymore." He turned around and gave the traumatized recruits a chilling smile.

"The name's Wingo Walkaway. And don't you forget it."

.~===)==============={%}

As the wounded soldiers considered the strangeness of the alias, Walkaway found himself met with an unpleasant surprise. Empty cells down the length of the chamber, at its end a staircase leading up to another part of the base.

"Damn it," Walkaway hissed. "If it wasn't for that fucking officer's big fucking mouth…" He slammed his arm into the nearest cell. "VOLTAAAAA!"

His roar of fury had no answer…at first. Footsteps sounded as a figure appeared, first his legs, then his torso, and finally his angular, handsome face. Volta had returned.

"I heard the gunshots," the hunter said. "And I believe you have twelve rounds left. But I'm not sure which guns they're in."

Walkaway smiled. "Where's Copasta?"

"His interrogator spirited him away the moment I alerted him. Funnily enough, Copasta cracked the moment I mentioned an assassin after him and started blubbering about everything he knew as they hustled him out. Thanks for giving him some motivation."

Wingo rubbed his temples. "You've made things very complicated."

"Me?!" Volta exclaimed. "You're the one that told me what you really are! And then when you decide to enact your assassination, you ditch your disguise and don the tackiest cowboy outfit I've ever seen! You claim to be the assassin for failed assassins, but you're even _less_ competent then the losers who failed in the first place!"

Walkaway's only reaction to this verbal barrage was too lower his head, his hat shading his eyes. "No…that's not true at all."

Volta raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"The truth is…the truth is that I _knew _you wouldn't work with me, and I revealed myself to you so that we could definitely have a battle, because I want to judge your full potential as a fighter!"

The room was silence for a moment, as Volta digested this. His response was short and to the point. "That's bullscheiße."

Walkaway blinked. "What?"

"I'm sorry for the language, I _really _try hard to avoid cursing, but that is the _stupidest _bloody excuse I've ever heard. You're lying to cover your idiocy."

"I…I…that's exactly right."

"AND NOW YOU'RE MAKING _ANOTHER _wait you admit it?"

"Yes!" Walkaway declared. "I'm a liar! I lie all the time about even my lies! And that's the truth and nothing but the truth!" And then he did a little dance, right there in the cell room. This dance included hip shaking, tapping, and a pirouette any professional ballet dancer would have given her left arm for.

Volta grimaced under the weight of the dozen sweat drops weighing down his noggin. "You are a strange man…uh…what was your name again?"

"Wingo Walkaway," he replied. "That's the name I've chosen for myself, because I've walked away from the life I used to have."

"And the Wingo bit?"

"I loved the sound of it," Walkaway admitted. "One day when I was eight, I was startled, and blurted out 'Wingo Bingo!' And now it's my first name and catchphrase!"

Volta nodded in understanding. Then he drew his sword. "Stranger and stranger…well, in any case, I have to arrest you now."

Walkaway sighed. "It's always arresting this and arresting that. Being a part of the Law is no fun. That's why I didn't join the Marines like my father did. I want to protect the public on my own terms."

"I understand not agreeing with a loved one," Volta said. "But your idea of protecting the public is too juvenile. And it sounded like you killed that Marine back there; I can't overlook that. Plus, I want to ask you a few questions about the organization."

Walkaway snorted. "If you beat me in single combat, I'll tell you whatever you want to know."

Volta stared deep into his eyes, right at the tiny, dark pupils within. "I don't think you're lying this time," he concluded. With a slight flourish he drew his blade and pointed it in front of him. "I will give you credit where credit is due, you haven't said a word about my hair. For that alone, I respect you a bit. I think even Sanji was chuckling a little behind my back, as well as a few Marines. But you haven't."

Walkaway shrugged. "It looks stupid, but it's clearly an accident. I don't mock accidents."

"Thank you."

And just like that, the battle began. Wingo bent his arms upward and slipped the upper two pistols out of their holsters, cocking them simultaneously and firing twice.

Volta did not dodge; he merely held up his arms and let the bullets hit them. He had found, much to his delight, that in battle the ink responded to his will when it otherwise remained dormant. And if he concentrated, the tattoos would jut out just an inch and catch the bullets, absorbing their momentum and leaving him undamaged.

"A Devil Fruit…" Walkaway whispered. "My dad used to tell me about them. To think that they exist here as well..."

Volta did not give him any more time to speak. He ran forward, sword in one hand and scabbard in the other. He twirled the latter until its blocky bottom faced Walkaway.

_BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!_

But the gunslinger was undeterred. He understood immediately Volta's defense, and knew the closer he got, the stronger his shots would hit.

The next four bullets Volta tried to block with his scabbard. He twirled it in front of him, and while it did deflect two of them, the force knocked the sword holder from his hand, which went sailing into one of the cells.

The other two impacted with his chests, and while the tattoos protected him, he still felt the stinging sensation of broken skin. His prior two injuries began to bleed profusely again.

Having fired half his ammo, and with no time to reload from his belt, Walkaway opened the cylinders of his guns, and shook the three bullets from his left into the air. They came down head-first, right into the empty slots of his right pistol. He holstered the empty weapon and squeezed his fist, firing a trio of spikes at his opponent.

Volta, who had run to free Copasta before seeing the spikes in action, found himself caught off guard and tried to deflect with his sword. The metallic spikes stuck to the blade, and a yank from Walkaway almost ripped it out of his hands.

"The pull of my magnets is unparalleled!" The gunslinger crowed. "Even with your strength, you'll need both hands to even hope to get your sword free! And when you do, I'll put six shots in your skull!"

Volta let go of the sword. The retracting chains pulled it toward Walkaway fast, forcing him to block with his gun. The rapier sliced halfway into it…right into the gunpowder.

"OH SHI-"

_**BANG!**_

The wannabe assassin flew across the room and down the hall, sliding all the way to the bottom step, which impacted his own skull with an audible thud.

The rapier flew across the room, and in an act that shocked Volta as much as it pleased him, he caught the handle before the blade could cut into him. He quickly retrieved his scabbard and sheathed the sword. "Oy, are you still alive down there?"

No response.

Tentatively, Volta walked forward, down the hall, toward Walkaway's body. The poor bloke was a mess; his hands and jaw were badly burned, the spikes of his left wristband had melted, and three shards of the pistol lay buried in his face. His eyes had rolled up, showing only the whites. Volta had seen this before in one of the manga panels he'd skimmed through, and he'd figured it meant unconsciousness and defeat. Nice to see he had been right.

"Arghurhufhaaaabla."

Volta jumped back as Walkaway began to move, his legs twitching and his head jerking. With a sudden spring of coordinated movement, the assassin scrunched up his body and performed a near perfect kick up, landing on his feet and cracking his neck at the same moment. Said moment knocked off his hat, revealing a comically large bump on his head.

"This. Ain't. OVER!"

"I'm fairly certain it is," Volta said. "You're in no condition to fight."

Walkaway stared daggers at his opponent. He clenched his fists, wincing in pain as he did so, then cracked the knuckles with an audible cry of pain. From one of his belts he retrieved a small bottle, which he popped open and poured generously onto his palms. The veins in his neck disappeared, as the salve eased both the pain and his tension. "Always be prepared for a mishap," he stated, or perhaps quoted.

"That's a lot of salve," Volta commented. "How will you hold a gun with your hands being so slippery?"

"Bagahaha, do you really want to know?"

"No, I just want to-"

In the single moment Volta lowered his guard, Walkaway threw the bottle at him, boomerang style. The salve sprayed out, a glob of it hitting him directly in the face.

"AAGH, MY EYES, MY EYES! YOU BLOODY BASTARD!"

Volta ran back down the hall…or rather, he tried to. Instead he hit the side of the wall and fell with a crash. The stinging intensified with each passing second, a pain Volta was entirely unprepared to deal with.

Gritting through the agony, Volta prepared himself for an attack, trying to make use of his other senses. He listened carefully for any sudden movements on Walkaway's part.

But to his surprise, the only sudden moments he heard were going _away _from him. Wingo had ran up the stairs to escape. As his namesake suggested, he had walked away from the fight he claimed wasn't over.

"Honorless bastard," Volta growled, as the pain in his eyes only grew more intense. Soon it would be unbearable, perhaps even leading to damage. For a moment, Volta wondered if carrots were capable of healing eyes in this world, just as milk seemed capable of healing teeth. But he dismissed the idea. Even if it was true, he couldn't rely on it.

He wiped as much of the gunk from his eyes as he could, but it was in his eyelids now. The burning continued to build.

"Dammit!" Volta cried, his thoughts vocalizing out of sheer fury. "I need water! I got to wash this crap out!"

The pitcher, the one the interrogator had used. Was it still down here? Volta felt his way around, his hands brushing the many bars that composed the cells. He counted them until he found the right one, entered it, and groped for the pitcher, careful not to wave his hands to hard, for fear of knocking it over. He felt a smooth, cold surface. A handle! He was saved!

The agonizing pain in his eyes intensified even more as he opened them, but it began to recede under the waterfall from the pitcher. Chucks of ice hit his face, and he blinked rapidly to better flush out the painful salve.

Volta sighed with relief as the pain disappeared, his eyes left feeling numb but still working just fine. With his most serious problem solved, the pale hunter ran out of the cell and up the staircase, ready to tear the place apart if Walkaway was still inside.

The assassin in question was indeed still in the building, hiding just around the corner of the hall facing the stairs. As soon as Volta's foot hit the first floor, Wingo sprung out and fired a dozen rounds, having reloaded all of his pistols. But now his belts were empty, and if his six guns failed him again, he would only have a single wristband to fight with.

Volta, not expecting the trap to come so early, barely got his arms up to defend his inkless head. The force of the bullets knocked him into the window just to the left of the stairs, cracking it badly. Volta winced as a piece of glass came loose and dug into his back, just under the raven.

"I'm not going to make the same mistakes I did before," Walkaway stated confidently. "This time I'll finish you for good!" He sprinted forward, torso lowered and arms back, like a ninja on the run. He jumped and twisted, his legs now in front, prepared to kick Volta right out of the building.

But the bounty hunter anticipated this. Dropping his sword, Volta grabbed Wingo's legs the moment they slammed into his chest, and as he crashed outward in a shower of glass, his own legs unfolded and pushed off from the sides of the opening, pulling Walkaway out with him.

"Guess we'll finish this outside," Volta smirked.

"…Volta?"

The sheer terror in Walkaway's voice, not to mention the fact that he _teeth and eyeballs _had popped out his head, immediately made Volta realize his error. He looked down.

And felt his out eyes widen to inhuman proportions at the _five hundred foot drop beneath them. _

"Oh yeah," Volta muttered, his voice suddenly very squeaky. "This base was built into the side of the city. Guess I forgot about that." He turned to Walkaway and gave him a sheepish smile. "My bad."

"WHAT PART OF FINISH YOU FOR GOOD DID YOU NOT UNDERSTAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaa-"

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**A thousand apologies for such a short chapter, but the ending made such a good cliffhanger that I couldn't pass it up. Rest assured, next week we will return to our regularly scheduled 10K. **

**Wingo Walkaway was one of my first OC ideas for this story, and it was a blast to write his bizarre, somewhat honorable personality. He too has his roots in a JoJo character, specifically the minor Part 7 antagonist Ringo Roadagain. Both are gunslingers, though in the spirit of One Piece I made Walkaway far goofier then Ringo ever was. **

**His outfit is a straight rip from Oda's Loguetown Novel, which features what was supposed to be Daddy Masterson as the great Goda intended. Here's a pic; just substitute the stringy hair for black, gold-streaked sideburns, make the face younger, remove the cigarette and stubble, and you've got Walkaway. **

**Needless to say, the anime's filler rendition was radically different. **

**But I couldn't be more grateful for that. It gave me the chance to create a more intriguing aspect to Masterson's character, in the form of a rebellious son with his own ideals on how to serve the people. Or rather, I gave Walkaway a grounding in the canon…well, anime canon, which is practically canon. **

**In any case, see ya next week!**

**Yeomanaxel, the Verified Yeo. **


	6. Tamago Tree Arc Part 3

**Chapter 6 – BA-CAWK!**

"-AAAAAAAAAAAND!"

The ground rushed up at them with frightening speed, but Volta refused to panic. Still holding tightly to Walkaway's legs, he leaned his body toward the rocks, hoping to move closer toward a ledge.

He would have made it to if Walkaway hadn't chosen that moment to push off from Volta's body. Twisting around, he managed to shoot out his still functioning spikes, which embedded themselves deep into the cliff face. At the same time, he grabbed hold of a ledge with his other hand, pressing his body tightly to the rock to keep his wrists from snapping.

"Bastard!" Volta cried, his arm outstretched toward the assassin. His tattoos shot off of it, forming into a claw that wrapped itself around Walkaway's leg. The sudden weight almost sent them into freefall again, but Wingo's grip remained steadfast. He winced as his injuries flared up, blood dripping down his arm where his hand's skin had flayed.

"Dammit Volta, I can't hold on like this!"

"You won't need to," he cried back. The bounty hunter swung from his inky tendril, pushing his body back and forth. Then he jumped, the claw unclasping and a half dozen smaller ones ripped through Volta's shirt to grab the rock face right under Walkaway.

"Impressive," Wingo said through gritted teeth.

"It's the adrenaline," Volta realized. "The more intense the situation, the more readily they respond, adding their power to my own! Like a mother suddenly gaining the strength to lift a car her child is under!"

"Car?"

Volta blinked, realizing his interdimensional faux pas. "In any case, now we just need to climb back up to the base."

"That's not gonna be easy," Walkaway said. "We've already fallen halfway down."

Volta saw that it was true; hundreds of feet of sheer rock lay above them. He cursed under his breath. "Walkaway!" he called. "Take off your wristband! Then let go!"

"Are you crazy?!" he shouted back. "You want me to turn into a Wingo Waffle?"

"Waffles aren't flat," Volta corrected. "That's why people say pancake! In any case, I'll catch you as you fall down!"

"How can I be sure you'll keep your word?"

"Because I can't arrest a corpse. I still need that info about the Organization. The info _you _promised _me."_

Walkaway's expression became thoughtful, as he contemplated these words. "Alright," he said. He tapped his accessary twice against the rock, and it sprang open, dangling from the spikes still embedded in the side of the face. "On three. One."

Volta focused on what he wanted, and another claw began to form.

"Two."

Two of the smaller ones receded from the cliff, their mass increasing the size of the large one. The rest dug deeper into the rock.

"Three!"

Walkaway fell. Volta's giant inky appendage reached out and grabbed him around the waist, the jolt causing both to slide down the cliff. To their relief, the four remaining claws held, but they began to ripple ominously, their forms strained by the weight. Slowly, the two fighters slid down, faster and faster, the claws ripping through the rock but losing purchase.

"Get ready!" Volta cried. "This landing won't be soft!"

The claws, in one last frantic push, launched the two of them over open air, the ground still twenty feet under them. With a cry of effort, Volta reformed the ink once more into two giant claws, reaching down to scoop up a group of chickens into a thin, feathery pile.

_SPLAT!_

It didn't help much.

.~===)==============={%}

Around the same time that Volta and Walkaway began practicing swordplay, Horasha's eyes fluttered open. He frowned as he tried to stretch, only to find his arms tied behind his back. His legs had been tied up as well.

He felt a cool breeze, and stiffened, staring in horror at his bare arms. Then it hit him; he had been tied up with the sleeves of his blue blazer.

"You bastard!" he cried. Or rather, tried to cry, but all that came out was "Mmmmm!" He had been gagged with the bottom half of his left pants leg.

"Oh, you're awake," Zoro noted, before turning back to a map of the city. The huge piece of parchment lay flat and upright within a wooden case, visible through a thin sheet of glass.

Dozens of them had been installed throughout the three islands, a public service designed to help tourists and other visitors find their way. A few of the former studied the map alongside Zoro, deliberately ignoring the squirming man at his feet.

"Damn, I just don't understand," he muttered.

"Don't understand what?" One of the tourists asked politely.

"This whole map! Its maker must have been drunk off his ass when he designed this piece of crap!"

The tourist blinked. "What do you mean?"

"First of all," Zoro explained. "Why are the roads in blue or green here, but the _actual _roads are tiled mostly in warm colors, like red and orange. Was the maker colorblind or something?"

He pointed angrily at some of the drawn shapes surrounding the town square. "Secondly, these buildings all have numbers on them, but I've seen some of them while walking around, and they _don't _have numbers, they have _names!_"

"Are you serious?" another, less polite tourist asked. He pointed to a long list of building names besides the map, each with a corresponding number. "Just look over here!"

Zoro did so, but if anything, it only seemed to make him angrier. "Why the hell are the numbers and names together on a map, but not on the buildings? If some place is called '1 Todd's Barber Shop,' but the actual building is called 'Todd's Barber Shop,' what's the point of numbers at all!"

Before the stupefied tourists could respond, Zoro pointed once more, this time to a red circle with the tiny words YOU ARE HERE in it. "And finally, how the _hell _does this map know where we are!? Are you seriously gonna tell me that the mapmaker can't get the colors or the names right, but _somehow _predicted that we would be at this exact location in the whole damn city? I don't know about you, but it's seriously creeping me out!"

With his final point made, Zoro grabbed Horasha, hoisted him on his shoulder, and stormed off. "Fuck maps! I'll find my own way!"

Of course, the irate swordsman only started moving in the _opposite_ direction of the base once again. Horasha knew the city like the back of his hand, so he made no move to correct his captor. He badly wanted to rescue his son from the clutches of the Marines, but if he entered their facility now, he'd be unable to do anything. He needed to bide his time and wait for the moment when he could escape.

He felt that moment arrive when the swordsman's stomach gurgled. "Oi, you know of any pubs around here?" Zoro asked, ripping the gag out as he spoke.

Horasha flexed his jaw. "I'm afraid not," he lied. "But I do know of an excellent little restaurant just a few buildings down the next street."

Zoro nodded. "I do like chicken…this isn't some sort of trick to get free, right?"

"Assassin's honor," he replied resolutely.

"Alright, to chicken we go."

To Horasha's immense relief, Zoro didn't object to directions this time. Not because he actually needed them, the swordsman reminded constantly, but because he simply didn't want to waste time searching the whole city.

"Even though I just told him it was down the next street," the assassin muttered under his breath.

"Shut up," Zoro said. "I know exactly where it is; just down the next street."

"I LITERALLY JUST SAID THAT!"

"Actually, we're on that street right now."

"THEN WHY DID YOU SAY THE NEXT STREET?!"

"Because you did."

Horasha felt ready to rip out of his bonds and kill the swordsman right then and there, but they arrived before he could act on his desire. The chicken place had a welcoming atmosphere, the smell of freshly fried foul filling the building. A grand total of five customers graced the dining room, but the looks on their faces confirmed to Zoro the quality of the establishment.

He set Horasha down and untied his arms and legs, folding the sleeves and placing them in his haramaki. "If you run, I'll kill you."

The statement was so frank and casual that the aging assassin nearly lost all hope, but with a deep breath, he pulled himself together and entered the building with something approaching dignity. Zoro followed, right on his heels.

They sat in silence, waiting for a waiter, staring at each other from across a thin, wooden table. Zoro kept his gaze cool and stern, but inside his frustration threatening to boil over. Once again, he had found himself foiled by his surroundings. And all attempts to understand them had resulted in more confusion. Why couldn't the Marine base be in the center of town? He could fine that easily.

Horasha did not dare break eye contact with Roronoa, but he didn't need to; he had already seen his method of escape! All he had to do was hit Zoro with a saltshaker and jump out of the window above the piano. And as soon as he mentally outlined this stratagem, he realized its flaw; he wouldn't fit.

"So," Zoro spoke up, breaking through Horasha's despair. "Why exactly did you guys want to kill us in the first place?"

"My lips are sealed," he stated gruffly. "In my profession, snitches don't last very long."

Zoro nodded. "Makes sense. But why are you an assassin in the first place? I don't mean to be rude, but you're not exactly in the best shape for the job."

"That was extremely rude," Horasha chuckled. "But all too true."

The waiter arrived, a blonde kid with a bland expression. To Zoro's immense disappointment, the place didn't serve booze, so he ordered the blackest coffee possible and the largest bucket of drumsticks. Horasha also requested coffee.

"In all honesty, I never wanted a part in any of this," Horasha said. "And neither does my son, despite his skill with the marbles."

"Then why are you both into it?"

"Why indeed…" the middle-aged man suddenly seemed much older, his back slouching and his eyes drooping. "Well, it's a long story. I'm not sure you'll enjoy it."

"Try me."

.~===)==============={%}

It really was a long story; Volta and Walkaway had fallen out of the base around the time it ended.

Horasha had been a welder by trade, a specialist in the craft of fusing metals. Like many trades, it had been passed down from his father, who inherited it from his father, and so on, back many generations.

But a second tradition had been preserved; marble flicking. Flicks so fast and hard the little ball flew as quick as a bullet. The technique had been developed centuries ago when the people of Horasha's home island were preyed upon by beasts. Beasts only vulnerable in their single, red eye.

"Didn't your ancestors have guns?" Zoro questioned, while his captive took a sip of coffee.

"I'm not sure," Horasha admitted. "But that's the story as I've heard it. More legend now, I suppose."

In any case, the unique method of self-defense had been passed on throughout the Yit-Yot Family. Horasha taught it to Copasta, who quickly proved a natural talent. He in turn, without his father's knowledge, taught it to his friends, and on the weekends, they would engage in flicking contests, hitting cans and bottles and the occasional stray cat in the back alleys of the town. Between this simple pastime and helping his father in his shop, Copasta lived a peaceful life.

And then someone died. A girl, to be exact, only twelve years old. As Copasta and his friends had flicked their marbles and laughed at each other's dirty jokes and drunk their cheap beer, she had walked by, in a thick fur coat studded with an obnoxious number of gems. Why she was out that night, all alone, would always haunt Horasha with its mystery; according to his son, she had a bag with her, so perhaps it had been a shopping trip. He couldn't say for sure.

She had taken one look at their escapades in the ally, and demanded they stop, for another stray cat had happened to be amid the garbage. Copasta, who'd bagged plenty of cats and had no idea who this girl was, told her to piss off and leave them be. She refused, running in front of their marbles to prevent them from harming the poor animal.

Punks they may have been, Copasta and his companions wouldn't fire on the girl. She cooed to the cat, enticing it to jump into her arms. Too late did the welder's son see the foam dripping from the feline's mouth, and the deranged look in its eyes.

The girl wanted it to jump, and it did. It clawed out one of her eyes and tore through her left cheek by the time Copasta blew its brains out. They rushed her to the hospital, but it was too late. The virus took her in three days.

As traumatic as the incident proved to be for Copasta, the consequences would have ended there had it not been for the girl's identity. Specifically, the daughter and only child of Don Rabbia, crime boss of the island, and a temperamental man on the best of days. To him, it didn't matter if Copasta and his friends had tried to say his daughter's life; they had been there, and they had failed. In his grief-fueled madness, that was enough for him to enact a hollow vengeance.

"Bastard," Zoro growled, his hands clenching the table so hard it cracked.

Horasha merely nodded. "My son was too rattled to go back and shoot again for some time. But that is what saved him, for when his friends returned to their usual spot, Rabbia's men were waiting for them. If it's alright with you…I'd rather not share what happened to them."

He sipped his coffee and munched on a drumstick; the waiter had returned with their order. "I can't even begin to describe how terrified I was for my son. Lita had already passed some time ago; he was all I had left."

Zoro nodded in understanding; he'd wondered where the mother was in all of this. "Did you try to leave the island?"

"Rabbia made that impossible," Horasha explained. "His control of my home was almost as tight as Albedya's of Beer Town. His men patrolled the docks; we would have been spotted. Eventually, when the Don realized we wouldn't come to him, he came to us."

Three of the Don's men broke into the shop one night, flintlocks in hand, ready to shoot the final teen dead. But Horasha had been warned beforehand by a sympathetic storekeeper under Rabbia's 'protection.'

So instead of two sleeping welders, the Don's men found only marbles in their eyes and throats. The Yit-Yot tradition had saved the family from monsters yet again.

"When his assassins failed to return," Horasha explained. "Rabbia lost whatever sense he had and ordered the arson of our shop. He then when on to order the deaths of every welder and teenager on the island. Naturally, his men wouldn't do it, the commands too heinous even for them. Rabbia's brother, a capo in the gang, saw his insanity as a chance to become the new Don, and he staged a coup. Eventually, the whole gang consumed itself with infighting, and organized crime on my island evaporated."

Zoro whistled, long and slow. "And all because one little girl loved cats too much."

"More or less," Horasha sighed, finished off his coffee with a gulp. "In any case, I thought that would be the end of our troubles, but then the Organization appeared, and demanded we join their ranks. We couldn't refuse; to do so meant death."

"Why were they so interested in you?" Zoro questioned. "You weren't experienced killers."

"The Organization was still developing at the time," Horasha answered. "They needed manpower and quality, so they forcibly recruited anyone with the potential to be effective killers. Most likely an agent heard about what we had done and the consequences of it, and erroneously believed we had masterminded the fall of Rabbia's operation."

The old welder leaned back in his seat, staring at the ceiling with a blank expression. "Copasta and I have been in this for five months now. The Organization sends us after potential enemies and rogue members, so I'm glad to say we haven't shed innocent blood."

The smile turned into a frown, and Zoro could see real sadness in his eyes. "But I knew it couldn't last. You and your friend did a good thing, taking down Albedya. I don't really want to kill you two. But if we don't-"

"The price of failure is death," Zoro said. "I understand."

"Yes, exactly. I hate what we've become, but it's the only way to survive. For my son to survive. I…I…I'm so tired."

The two sat in silence. The chicken bucket stood empty, as did the cups. Neither asked for a refill. The waiter gave Zoro the bill.

"There might be a way for you to get out of this mess alright."

Horasha perked up. "What is it?"

"Tell us what you know," Zoro commanded, his face serious again. "If you spill everything you can about the Organization, and aid in its defeat at Marine hands. They may be willing to pardon your crimes in light of that, especially since you've only killed criminals and not civilians."

Something akin to hope began to seep into Horasha's face, but he still seemed uncertain. "The Organization is powerful, and Copasta and I don't know much. Is it really worth it?"

"It will be," Zoro stated confidently. "Because Volta and I will protect you. I've made up my mind to help you guys."

"Really?" Horasha gasped. "Against the full might of the Organization?"

"We took out the Bowi Family," the swordsman reminded. "I'm sure we can handle a group that has to hide behind some generic, ominous name."

The old man thought for a moment, then smiled himself, one so wide it finally revealed his mouth from under his bulbous nose. "Thank you." All thoughts of escape fled his mind. Perhaps it was stupid of him to trust a man he had tried to kill, but nothing about Zoro seemed ingenuine.

And at the end of the day, trust was all he had. All he could muster, as the sun drifted down.

.~===)==============={%}

The blue sky began to darken, as Volta and Walkaway walked across the beach. They had washed off the bird guts as best they could, but Volta could still feel some encrusted in his hair. The smell was as awful and all-encompassing as the noise of the chickens. Thousands of them, as far as Volta could see, only kept out of the water by a thin layer of sharp mesh embedded into the wet sand.

Neither fighter felt like talking, much less continuing the fight. Exhausted, battered, and in Volta's case almost unbearably itchy, they trekked through the clucking, little pieces of their clothing stuffed into their ears. Like the cushion of chickens, it didn't help much.

Walkaway tapped Volta's shoulder. "Don't think this is over," he said. "I still don't consider myself defeated."

Volta couldn't hear him, but he was adept at reading lips. "I know. Don't think for a second that I've forgotten about arresting you."

"BASTARDS!"

The sudden, high-pitched cry came from behind, and both teens turned to see a young girl running up to them. She wore the long, ankle-length dress most girls in the Kingdom sported, and her cream-colored hair lay atop her head in the shape of three round eggs.

"YOU BASTARDS, I'LL KILL YOU BOTH!"

"Strong language for an eight-year-old," Volta muttered.

"I'M NINE!" With this statement, she reached them and promptly slammed her foot into Walkaway's shin.

"AAAGH, SON OF A BI-" The poor bastard fell hard onto another chicken, squashing its back with his face. It clucked angrily and pecked at his hair, tearing out a bit of it.

The girl then leaped up and tried to nail Volta in the balls, but the bounty hunter saw this coming and tried to block. All he did was create a platform with his arm, which she jumped off to land a punch to his jaw, knocking his makeshift earplugs loose.

"YOU KILLED GINGER! AND BABS AND BUNTY AND MAC AND EDWINA!" She leaped at him again, but this time Volta was ready and grabbed her in midair. She tried to squirm out, but his grip did not loosen. "It's very rude to kick people."

"It's even ruder to kill my chickens!" The girl cried. Tears and snot ran down her face in rivers. "I've known them since they were chicks! Me and my pop fed them, cleaned them, and gave them lots of love! And you and your dumb friend turned them into paste! I'll never forgive you!"

Volta sighed. "I'm sorry about your chickens."

"No you're not! You're just sorry you got caught!"

"You damn little squirt!" Walkaway roared, finally getting to his feet. "Ya want me to turn your face into paste?!"

The girl gasped, and fresh tears began to well up. "Ya, ya wouldn't shoot a wittle girl, would you?"

In an instant, Walkaway's face went from red to white. "What? No, I wasn't being serious! I threaten to shoot everyone who makes me mad, I swear!"

"How about we all calm down," Volta spoke wearily. "No one is gonna shoot anyone. Can you promise me you'll stop attacking us if I put you down?"

"No! I'll kick you until you die!"

"Then I'm going to keep holding you."

The tiny attacker's eyes narrowed, and she wiggled her arm loose enough to wipe her snot on her shoulder. "Fine. But you'll all pay!"

"And we will," Volta said. "How much was each chicken?"

"You think I care about money?" The girl cried. "I'm only nine! No, you have to pay with _blood._"

Volta blinked. "I'm not giving you my blood."

"Oh, you will," the girl intoned, her smile downright demonic. "You _will._ He he he he, ha ha ha ha, MWAHAHAHAHA!"

"Hiyoko! What have I told you about maniacal laughter?"

Said maniacal laughter died instantly, as the young girl slowly turned around toward her approaching mother. She had a very stern look on her face.

"Crap," she muttered.

"Punish her!" Wingo cried. "She kicked me, and it really hurt!"

Without a word, the mother walked past her daughter and promptly slammed her foot into Walkaway's shin.

"AAAAGH, WHYYY!"

"That was for threatening my daughter," the woman huffed. She bent down and affixed Hiyoko with a kind but disapproving gaze. "Honey, we've talked about this. You can't go around demanding blood payment. Do I have to take away your Steven Queen collection _again?_"

Volta blinked even harder. "What did you just say?"

"Be quiet, ruffian!" The mother snapped. "Now, you apologize to these two men right now, young lady."

Hiyoko blushed, partly in embarrassment and partly in fury, but she did as she was told. "I'm sorry for demanding blood payment. And for kicking and punching you."

"Oh, you don't have to apologize for that, sweetie," Her mother corrected. She walked over to the fallen Walkaway and slammed her sandal-clad foot right into his crotch.

"AAAAAAAAAAAGH!"

"That's for our chickens," she spat. Before Volta could react, she had closed the distance between them and slapped him hard across the face. He fell to his knees, reeling from the blow.

"I said I would reimburse you," he groaned.

"Oh, you'll be reimbursing us all right," The mother agreed. She smiled at them, and Volta knew immediately who Hiyoko had gotten it from.

"All I wanted was to buy a tree," he whimpered.

.~===)==============={%}

The mother, who finally introduced herself as Mendori, told them off a bit more before asking her daughter to take them back to the city. A surprising show of trust, but as it turned out Hiyoko knew the beach well from years of exploring, and the chickens recognized her; they got out of her way when she walked among them and even grew quieter when she spoke. It was a little eerie.

Of course, on the way she laid out the terms of the debt now owed to her family. "Chickens cost ten thousand berries each. But they also cost a bit to maintain over time, so you two owe us thirty thousand per chicken. And since you killed five chickens, that's one hundred and fifty thousand berries."

"Why does it cost so much money to maintain a chicken?" Volta asked as the three of them continued to walk across the beach.

"Chickens are picky, delicate animals," Hiyoko explained. "And Chickantazors are always lurking within the cave system under the city."

Volta considered this. "What exactly is a Chicantazor?"

The girl shivered at the name. "A terrifying monster, one that feeds on chicken and human flesh alike. Haven't you heard the tale of King Avgó?"

Volta shook his head, as did Walkaway. She told it to them.

"Oh," Wingo moaned, stopping to hold his crotch. "That's _not_ what I wanted to hear after so much suffering."

"But it's true," Hiyoko said, a bright smile on her face. "It exploded right out of his-"

"Speak no more!" The gunslinger cried. "Do you want me to shoot you?!"

"Stop threatening her," Volta said. "We're the one's at fault here." He rubbed his chin, deep in thought. Suddenly, an idea came to him. "How much does a Chicantazor's corpse cost?"

That stopped his companions dead in their tracks. They stared at him with mounting horror.

"You don't mean…"

"You can't be serious…"

"I am," Volta said. "I'll kill a Chicantazor and use _that_ to pay my dead to your family. If they're as dangerous as you say, eating chickens and humans alike, then killing one must have a substantial reward behind it."

Hiyoko gulped. "W-well, yeah. A Chicantazor's meat, hide, and fluids are worth millions of berries altogether. But no one has killed one in decades! It's an impossible task."

"The fact that they haven't been killed in so long," Volta figured. "Means that a Chicantazor's body would be in extreme demand because of limited supply, making it worth even more."

"What are you, economist?" Walkaway sneered.

"Nope, just a logical person. Alright, it's settled, I'll hunt down and kill a Chicantazor, give your family the corpse, and be free of Walkaway's and my debt for having killed your chickens. How does the sound?"

The young girl stared at them, her mouth forming a perfect circle. She blinked. "YEAH, THAT'S A GREAT IDEA!" She jumped up and down. "You guys look so strong, I'm sure you'll have no problem at all!"

"Volta, this is madness!" Walkaway screeched. "We're both injured, and my bullets are running low."

"Oh, that won't matter," Hiyoko giggled. "Bullets can't pierce a Chicantazor's hide anyway."

"THAT JUST MAKES THIS SITUATION WORSE FOR US!"

Volta chuckled. "You're not going to do it tonight. I need my sword back; it's still up at the base. I bet a Great Grade rapier can cut through the skin no problem. Plus, we'll need Zoro for this."

Walkaway's eyes narrowed. "I still don't like this. Can't we just get the money itself?"

"We _do _have quite a bit of cash now," Volta admitted. "Enough to pay this chicken debt many times over. But we have another debt to pay, and we don't know how expensive the Tamago Trees are."

"I know," Hiyoko exclaimed. "Fifteen million, five hundred thousand berries!"

Volta winced. "That's…unfortunate. Say, when you sell the corpse and make millions, could we have a bit of that? For helping you out?"

Hiyoko's eyes narrowed. "Why would we give you some of the money you would be giving us in order to pay off _your_ debt to us?"

"Because despite your creepy and violent tendencies, you and your parents are nice people?"

The girl considered this. Then she smiled innocently. "O-K! That's fine by me!" ❤

"You're a strange one, that's for certain," Walkaway muttered.

They continued to walk, as the sun went down. "End of the seventh day," Volta spoke softly to himself. "A week now."

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

Seven hundred and twenty-three days before the story began. Though, as Volta reflected on this fact, he realized how antiquated that view had become. This wasn't a story; it was reality. _His _reality. Only seven hundred and twenty-three days before a man named Luffy sailed out to sea, became a pirate, and began his quest to become the Pirate King.

And all at once something clicked, sliding into place like a wooden block into its corresponding crevice.

Luffy was the main character of the One Piece story. The world he was in was a copy, slightly altered in setting but not in story, so that was still true. And while the story hadn't ended, if the author's intent was true to the nature of a hero's quest…

"He succeeds," Volta whispered. The thought made him sick. His conversation with Walkaway that very morning came roaring back to him.

"_Gold Roger had a lot of allies back in the day, many of them almost as strong as himself. If that happens again, but the next King happens to despise the Government-"_

"_It will be war," Volta finished. "Perhaps greater war then what's happening now."_

"Luffy is the hero," Volta whispered, too low to be heard by his companions. "He's likely a good person. But what if he's an…what's the word…anti-hero? What if he doesn't care about anyone but his own crew? Is he willing to burn down the world to achieve his dreams?"

Volta didn't know, and the thought terrified him.

"We're here!" Hiyoko chirped happily. Sure enough, the massive stone staircase appeared from around the next bend, leading to the brightly lit city above.

"I'll stay down here," Walkaway announced. "They've got guards posted there at night. And the Marines have likely alerted them to my presence now."

"Smart," Volta said. "What model of pistol do you use? I can purchase some more bullets for you."

Walkaway blinked. "That's…rather generous of you. Heh, and to think we were just trying to kill each other this morning!"

"Yeah, well, Zoro tried to kill me when we first met," Volta stated casually. "Scheiße passiert."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Something I'm not saying in English," Volta snarked.

Hiyoko's jaw came close to hitting the ground. "You guys are crazy! Why were you trying to kill each other?"

"Business disagreement," Volta answered.

"What, that's not even…well…actually, yeah, sort of." Walkway rubbed his head. "Damn I'm tired. I'm gonna slip onto one of the passenger ships and sleep."

"I'll have to add breaking and entering to your list of offenses," Volta smirked.

Wingo grinned. "Whatever, not like you could catch me if ya tried."

The worn-out gunslinger slinked toward the docks, while Volta ascended the stairs. He paused, turning toward Hiyoko. "I won't run away from my debt," he stated. "And…I'm sorry about your chickens."

The young girl nodded, looking a bit sheepish. "I'm sorry to. I saw what happened, and, well…I guess human life is more important than animals."

"You guess?!"

"Me and my dad raised them from chickhood!" Hiyoko exclaimed. "Of course I would be attached to them!"

"And I said I was sorry," Volta repeated kindly. "Forgive me or not, that's all I can do about your pets."

Hiyoko nodded, wiping the tears budding up in her eyes. "Okay. I do forgive you. But, they weren't pets; they were my friends."

Volta nodded, his eyes shadowed by the darkness. "I know what it's like to lose a friend."

"Do you know what it's like to lose five of them?"

Damian ascended the staircase. He never looked back.

He never saw her again.

.~===)==============={%}

Zoro and Horasha were still in the chicken place when Volta found them. "Don't you find it odd," the irate bounty hunter began. "That I found you by going down the one street and entering the one building a thought for _sure _you would never be in?"

"I guess I'm magic," Zoro huffed. "Sit down, we have shit to discuss."

And indeed, they did. Horasha recounted an abbreviated version of his family's sad story. Then Zoro explained his plan.

Volta closed his eyes and rubbed his chin. "After hearing all that, I'm willing to help my partner in this, but I'm not going to be so lenient. Killing crooks and traitors is still murder, not to mention all those bloody cats and dogs your son blasted. I've recently been reminded of the importance of animal life, so you better have a good explanation for all that unnecessary death."

Horasha cringed. "My son likes to practice on moving targets, as do I. It's a good way to improve, so in battle, we don't shoot an innocent person by mistake when firing on fleeing enemies."

"Alright, that's a pretty good explanation," Volta conceded. "But do you recognize the risks of working with us? The Marines are likely still going to have you imprisoned."

"That's a very likely possibility," Horasha admitted. "But if so then I won't fight it. We've fallen out of society and become criminals, so it's only just, I suppose."

"I've learned some interesting things about the Organization," Zoro said. "I think you should hear about them." He waved his hand, prompting Horasha to clear his throat.

"Right, so I've already explained this all to your friend, but I might as well do it again since, between me and you, he's a bit of an idiot."

Volta nodded. "No disagreement here."

"I'm right here guys."

"The Organization," Horasha continued, "is a criminal group that started up about six months ago. It's grown to have about a thousand members now, and it's only getting bigger by the week."

"What exactly is it's purpose?" Volta asked.

Horasha gave him a chilling stare. "Domination. The Organization wants to rule the world."

"How cliché," Zoro commented.

"You're not wrong," Horasha replied. "But that doesn't make them any less dangerous. Personally, I think they have as much chance of succeeding as a fly has against a giant, but it's the chaos they'll cause in the process that worries me."

"The Organization plans to amass a force of five thousand and take it into the Grand Line. There, they would forcibly recruit individuals from every island they came across, improving their skill, strength, and numbers. And when their force is great enough, they plan to conquer the Line completely, and reach the final island."

"The Organization wants the One Piece," Volta breathed. Immediately Luffy came to mind, but he dismissed the idea; heroes didn't lead armies full of criminals. And Tybalt had very specifically said crew, not group. Perhaps the leader of the Organization was a villain Luffy would battle in the future?

"Volta, you still with us?"

The hunter shook his head. "Sorry, just trying to wrap my head around it."

"It's certainly a big thing to wrap," Horasha chuckled mirthlessly. "And in case you're wondering, that would make the Organization a pirate crew, though not one picky about who fits the pirate mold."

"I see. And who leads this merry band of plunderers?"

Horasha shook his head. "No idea. All I know is that he is referred to as the Don, but many criminal bosses use that term. He heads the Administration, which is composed of himself, the Combat Commander, the Three Gems, and the Idea Man. Needless to say, I don't know their identities either."

"Interesting names," Volta remarked. "Do you know what they mean?"

"Well, the CC is in charge of combat-related matters," Horasha explained. "Most likely training all the new recruits of the Organization. As for the Gems, I can't say, but Idea Man sounds like the main planner or organizer of the group. I'm afraid this is all just speculation; the Administration is shrouded in a lot of mystery."

"So, six leaders and about a thousand pirates," Zoro recounted. "And devoted to secrecy to the point that they send assassins after those that try to leave."

"Exactly," Horasha said. He scratched his hands nervously. "The group has recruited a lot of the latter, but already more general ruffians are swelling the ranks. If you want my opinion, soon it will be a pirate crew in all but name, with people like myself either having to take up the pirate name or be cast aside."

"Zoro, do you think the Don already has a bounty?" Volta asked.

"Possibly." The swordsman felt around in his haramaki, before pulling out a thick stack of bounty posters. "Let's see…took care of him…. took him out…man, _that _was a while ago…still around…"

Volta marveled at the pile of crumpled up bounty posters on the floor, all of them worth only two million at best. "And you've only been doing this for two months?"

"I am starting to develop a reputation," Zoro muttered, still crumpling up successful captures. Soon the stack was halved, and the bounties got higher.

"Alright, this is what's left." The first poster was of a small group of pirates. Despite the grainy colors, the captain had a distinctly blue coat with a pink slash. He stood in a strange position, knees and arms bent with the latter over his head, hands splayed outward. Like he was trying to catch something. His hair had been carefully shaped into a pink flower, sideburns jutting off the sides of his head to form two green leaves.

Even stranger was the tulips that seemed to sprout from his subordinate's heads, in a range of different colors.

**WANTED**

**DEAD OR ALIVE**

**EUREKA "FLOWERBLOOD" YURIKAH**

฿ **6,000,000**

**If you encounter this individual, do not attempt to engage unless you are a marine, a World Government employee, or a registered bounty hunter or privateer. If capture is successful, turn into your nearest local Marine or WG facility. Rewards for dead bounties will be reduced; the specific amount varies per area.**

**MARINE**

"I know of him," Horasha said. "He's the captain of the Tulip Pirates. He's got a big crew and hates Marines, but he mainly raids florists and gardens on more lush islands across the East Blue. He's not our guy."

"Stranger and stranger," Volta whispered. "Alright, who's next?"

Next on the list was a close up of a thick-faced woman with a smile too wide to be a grin. Her eyes seemed to stare hungrily out from under her stringy black hair, and she wore a white cowboy hat.

**WANTED**

**DEAD OR ALIVE**

"**IRON MACE" ALVIDA**

฿ **5,000,000**

"Captain of the Alvida Pirates," Zoro elaborated. "Not a lot of female captains out there, but they're just as ruthless, if not more so. And Alvida's the nastiest of them all. Primarily raids cruise ships and the like, but she's slippery; no one's been able to track her down."

"I find it hard to believe her the Don," Horasha mused. "I've heard rumors; she sounds positively psychotic, and prone to fits of rage, usually if people insult her appearance. Her temperament doesn't fit with the low-profile of the Organization."

The next poster depicted a monster of a man, his face hairy and fierce, with an upside-down spade painted on his forehead. A bear-shaped helmet sat above it, its inherent cuteness standing in contrast to the cruel look in the man's eyes.

**WANTED**

**DEAD OR ALIVE**

**BEAR KING**

฿ **11,600,000**

"This guy is a total mystery," Zoro explained. "He used to be a big name in the East, him and his four younger siblings. They called themselves the Trump Pirates."

Volta chuckled. "I can see the resemblance."

Zoro blinked. "What?"

"Ah, nothing. Anyway, what do you mean, 'used to be'?"

"He disappeared," Horasha stated. "Him and his whole armada, which was rather sizable. They vanished off the face of the earth."

Volta frowned at that. "Vanished…and you say he had an armada? Interesting…"

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Zoro began.

"I am," Damian finished. "If there are five siblings, that fills five of the six roles in the Administration; it's not hard to imagine they gained another member whom they trusted enough to join them in the upper echelons."

"And he already had an armada…" Horasha whispered. "Could it be that he's merely hiding out, using the Organization as a means of becoming a more powerful crew?"

"I think it's a good bet," Zoro said. "Not a safe one, but a good one."

Volta flipped through the remaining posters, taking note of the interesting names and faces. The final poster stood out to him; a man with shadowed eyes, flowing gray hair, thick, snarling lips, and a chain around his right shoulder. The man seemed almost in mourning.

**WANTED**

**DEAD OR ALIVE**

"**FOUL-PLAY" KRIEG**

฿ **15,000,000**

"This is the guy you were talking about Zoro," Volta said, holding up the poster. "The second most wanted man in the East."

"Oh yeah, I did mention him a few days ago." Zoro held up the poster, frowning at its occupant. "He has a small armada as well, so its possible he could also be the Don. But its not as large as the Bear King's in its heyday. What makes him so dangerous is his skill in deception."

"Indeed," Horasha agreed. "Krieg got his start by boarding a Marine caravel, killing its crew, and using it to pillage islands under the Marine's own noses. Then he gathered a crew and did the same trick with a fleet of _cruisers._"

"Damn," Volta breathed. "Using Marine vessels to commit acts of piracy; no wonder he has such a high bounty."

"Well, Albedya was only a million lower," Zoro reminded.

"And we only beat _him _because of sheer dumb luck," Volta reminded.

Horasha narrowed his eyes, deep in thought. "Krieg is also a likely suspect for being the Don. He's got a fleet of repurposed Marine ships at his command _and _a desire to hide his identity."

"It's fifty-fifty right now," Volta said. "Definitely something to investigate. But before we do any of that, there's a far more pressing matter."

"Oh?" The look on Zoro's face made it clear that he wasn't going to enjoy hearing it.

He didn't. And then Volta mentioned a monster hunt. Which is how, for the rest of his life, Horasha would occasionally recall Zoro's insane smile, and shudder at its memory.

.~===)==============={%}

The next morning, the aging welder turned assassin turned himself in, guarded by Volta and Zoro. The interrogator from before confirmed that his son was alright and returned Volta's sword to him.

"You seriously left it at the base?!" Zoro raved. "Damnit Volta, how am I supposed to teach you swordplay if you can't even keep your sword on you?"

"Sorry," Volta said sheepishly. "Tough situation, trying not to die."

The Marine chuckled at the display. "Well, I appreciate the work you two have put in here. Don't worry, we'll treat them fair if what they say is true." He leaned in close to Horasha, his smile becoming a leer. "It is all true, right?"

"Indeed," Horasha replied, undaunted. "I'll help you do what needs to be done to put an end to this threat."

The Marine nodded. "Alright. By the way Volta, did you manage to catch that attacker?"

"I'm not sure where he is," Volta lied. "But I'm determined to find him and bring him in as well."

The rest of that morning was spent preparing. Bullets for Walkaway, torches for the caves, water canteens and the like. Their money drained away at an alarming rate, but Volta wasn't concerned. A challenge had presented itself, and he and Zoro were itching to face it.

As the sun reached its peak, on the eighth day since Volta's arrival, three men stood before the entrance to Tamago's vast, yellow rock. One stood bare-chested in ragged pants, a long sword in his hand and a gap where is front hair should be. The second donned a dark green headband, shuffling his feet and tapping his three gleaming katanas. The third grinned confidently, twirling two pistols in his fingers, ignoring the sweat cascading down his forehead and the slight shake of his knees.

"I'm not gonna lie," Zoro began. "This is the dumbest thing we've ever attempted."

"We haven't attempted many things to begin with," Volta chuckled.

"I'm probably going to wet myself," Walkaway added. "Just warning you now, don't get too close to be after a while."

And with that, the three entered.

The tunnel smelled abominable, a mixture of old crap and dried blood, mixed with the faint odor of rotting flesh. Walkaway hurled up his breakfast two minutes in but continued forward without complaint. Volta felt his respect for him increase a little.

Soon the sunlight faded behind them, and the three hunters lit their torches. The darkness of the caves seemed barely kept at bay, disappearing under their light only to rise up again behind them. The path wasn't too difficult to traverse. The stone under their feet felt firm, and the ceiling never dropped below twenty feet high. But they still moved cautiously, all too aware of a crevice or potential avalanche. Nothing could be trusted.

"I hear something," Zoro whispered. They all paused, listening. Nothing but the crackling of wood, and the beating of their hearts.

Except…

"I hear it too," Volta whispered. Walkaway nodded, cupping his left ear. A soft dripping, one that echoed, which meant a body of water nearby. The three trekked forwards, and as the moved the sound increased until it became a chorus.

The cave opened up, larger and larger, until Volta began to wonder if the majority of the rock was hollow. That could spell trouble for the city above it, and for the other two if their rocks were like this one.

Eventually, they reached the water. Volta began to run in place, as fast as he could. When the adrenaline began to kick in, Volta's tattoos came to life, twisting off his skin into a thick inky arm. He put his torch into its hand, and extended it upward, illuminating the ceiling. Thousands of stalactites hung from it, dozens of droplets slipping off them. The room echoed with their landings. Volta held the torch over the pool, watching the ripples cross each other, over and over.

Walkaway smiled "It's beautiful. Absolutely beautiful."

"It wouldn't be a bad place to train if there was more light," Zoro commented.

"_BA-CAAAAAWK!"_

The sudden shriek put the hunters on high alert. Volta's ink arm retracted, the torch returning to his real hand. "Remember the plan; as soon as that thing is on our tail, we run back through the tunnel and into the sunlight. There's where we can fight it effectively."

"Sounds good to me," Zoro, except one, small problem.

"What's that?"

"That clucking is coming from _right behind us!_"

"What?!"

Before anything more could be said, the tunnel entrance exploded. Dust flew everywhere, forcing the hunters back toward the edge of the pond.

"_BA-CAAAAAAAAAWK!"_

Volta grimaced as his ears rung, the shriek digging its way into his brain. Zoro and Walkaway shuttered, as the dust began to clear. Through it, the long, reptilian body of the Chicantazor began to emerge.

Volta held up his torch, and immediately the cold claws of fear plunged into his heart. The Chicantazor was a snake, thicker then an oak and covered in shining yellow scales. It could have been fifty feet long, its feather-covered tail rattling quickly and its sides shifting ominously. But the head scared him most of all, a horrific parody of a chicken's, its beak a five-foot pair of scissors lined with dozens of razor-sharp teeth, two upper ones a bit larger than the rest. The murky red eyes pulsed in tune with the swinging of the wattle, which dripped a sicky green substance that seemed to steam when it hit the floor. Close examination revealed it to be acid.

It began to rise, the tail rattling faster and faster. A thin, forked tongue flicked out of its beak. "Watch out!" Zoro shouted a mere second before the beak shot out like a bullet. Luckily, he had already drawn his swords and blocked the strike, the force sending him flying into the darkness. A splash sounded among the droplets.

_BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!_

"_BA-CAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWK!"_

The monster screamed in rage, its left eye reduced to a ragged mess. "Those are valuable!" Volta cried. "Don't shoot out the other one!"

"Don't worry, I know," Walkaway shouted back. "Now we've got a blind spot!"

The Chicantazor roared, it's tail thrashing madly. Volta came within inches of getting pasted, and with a flash, his sword emerged. He shoved the scabbard into his pants and charged the creature, slipping under its pipe-like body and slashing at the underside. The tough scales could only do so much against a Great Grade, even one in the hands of a novice. Green fluids gushed out, spraying everywhere as the monster continued to shake and squirm.

Some of it hit Walkaway's belt, and with a cry of alarm he tore it off, dropping one of his guns in the process. The creature slithered toward him, beak open and ready to slice. Seeing an opportunity, the gunslinger threw the belt, hip holsters and all, into the creature's mouth, dodging enough to avoid death but not a cut across the waist.

Zoro burst from the water, charging directly at the beast. He jumped above the midsection, three blades crossed. "AERIAL…ONI GIRI!"

Three deep cuts opened up on the creature, and more acid blood began to flow. Zoro landed hard and rolled. He looked his blades over and was released to find they had cut fast enough to avoid damage. "Volta, our swords will get damaged if we aren't careful!" We need a strong-"

That was all he got out before the length of the monster crashed into him, winded him, and sent him flying across the cave, smashing through several stalagmites in the process.

"Zoro!" Volta ran to him, but the creature charged him, forcing the hunter to jump out of the way.

Walkaway ran over to him. "It's no use!" he cried. "That thing's unstoppable! Look at your cuts!"

Volta paled at the sight of the slashes, once bleeding heavily, now squeezed together by the creature's muscles. It screamed in rage and began slithering toward the fallen Zoro, flickering its tongue in anticipation of a meal.

"We can't stop it!" Walkaway cried, tears beginning to form in his eyes. "It's gonna eat Zoro, then us! And it's gonna shit out our corpses and oh fuck I just wet my-"

Volta slapped him across the face. "Shut up. Don't panic." But he felt like panicking himself; even as he spoke, the creature only slithered closer to Zoro.

"Bloody hell!" he cried, and in a flash threw down his sword and pulled one of Walkaway's guns, firing twice into the creature's side. Hiyoko had spoken truly; they bounced off uselessly. But it got its attention. Slowly, the vast, demonic serpent turned around, its eyes glowing in the darkness that shadowed it.

Volta quickly did a torch count. Zoro's had fallen near the pond, but still burned, and his remained in his hand. Walkaway's also glowed nearby but was on the verge of going out.

But in its dying embers, both hunters saw something. A ray of hope in the darkness; Walkaway's belt and hip holsters, two loaded guns stuck in its teeth. Volta felt his adrenaline pumping, and a smile spread across his lips. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Yeah," Walkaway said, his eyes locked onto his lost weapons. "That ammo's live. All of it." He drew another pistol, the final one on him. "HEY UGLY!" he roared. "YOU PIECE OF SHIT! I BET YOUR EGG WAS SO MISSHAPPEN YOUR OWN MOTHER TRIED TO SWALLOW IT!"

Remarkably, the Chicantazor seemed to understand what he was saying. It's remaining eye narrowed, the glassy red deepening with each insulting word.

"YOU GONNA JUST LET US ROAST YOUR SCALY ASS LIKE THAT!" Walkaway screamed. "COME OVER HERE AND DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT!" He snickered. "Unless you're too _chicken _to."

And with that final burn, the monster _snapped._

**"_BA-CAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWK!"_**

It changed direction, ignoring Zoro entirely. It shot at them at like a bullet, beak wide and ready to snap them up.

As one, the hunters raised their guns. "Don't miss," Volta intoned.

"Back at ya."

_BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!_

Their bullets sailed true, chipping teeth, shredding tongue, and striking the belt eight times. A flash of light, a bang worthy of the first, and the creature's screams suddenly ceased. Its lower beak sailed through the air, before hitting the water with a sploosh.

With a final, gurgled whimper, a waterfall of acidic blood gushing from its ruined jaw, the creature slithered into the water, attempting to escape.

"I don't think so," Volta snarled. "You don't get away with hurting my friend, you overgrown drumstick. His mouth grew warm, almost hot, and with a cold look in his eyes, spat a glob of spit right into the pond.

He ducked and covered his eyes just in time, the word turning a bright blue. A pulsing sound filled his ears.

**"_BA-CAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-ack!"_**

The light faded, a thick, toasted smell permeating the air. He raised his torch, watching with satisfaction as the monstrous serpent bobbed on the surface of the water, burned to a crisp.

Walkaway's eyes nearly popped out of head again. "Holy shit…"

"I don't like using it," Volta explained. "It's completely fatal. Now, let's see to Zoro."

"Don't…bother…I'm…urk!"

"Idiot, you just coughed up a quart of blood!"

"I…disagree…just a…. pint."

"STOPPING TRYING TO WALK!"

.~===)==============={%}

The scales were roasted beyond repair, but between the eye, bones, uncongealed fluids, and numerous undamaged organs, the three hunters found themselves in possession of seventy million berries.

First order of business was the tree. Haggling brought the price down to thirteen mil, and Volta carried it close to his chest, with great care. It had been quite a journey to reach it.

Second was the chicken debt. "I'm truly sorry for the trouble we caused your farm," Volta apologized, handing over twenty mil to Hiyoko's parents. Mendori was, unsurprisingly, in a much better mood, downright cheerful even. Her husband looked tired, but grateful.

"Can you believe this, Ondori?!" Mendori practically screeched. "We'll be the richest farm on the beach! We can refurnish the living room, get new dishware, not to mention I could use a new pair of shoes, and of course Hiyoko would _love _a new dress for school!"

"Yes dear."

"Not to mention the barn itself! Why, we could have the whole thing painted if we wanted to! You won't mind if I chose the colors, would you?"

"No dear."

"Oh, and of course we should buy some more chickens, can't forget that, oh no! After all, they got us into this mess, ahahahaha!"

Talk of chickens seemed to perk him up. Marginally, at least. "Of course, dear. Ah, Hiyoko will be so happy…"

Mendori shook the three hunter's hands, her smile fit for an alligator. "Consider the dept repaid! Have a lovely day you three! Hiyoko says thank you! Honey, please carry this for me, it's quite heavy!"

"Yes dear."

The two descended the stairs, leaving the three at the gate of the city, thirty-seven million still snug in three thick briefcases.

"So, if we split it even," Walkaway mused. "Who's getting the extra mil?"

"We should just donate it to a charity," Zoro said.

They all considered it.

"Sure."

"Sounds good."

And so, they did.

Two hours later, they were back at the front gate, 12 mil to a man.

Walkaway stretched his arms and yawned. "So, I guess you're not arresting me after all."

"Not this time," Volta replied. "Consider it an additional award for your help and your info, which I've written down in my notebook." The hunter's stare grew harder. "But you killed a Marine; sooner or later, I'll need to bring you in."

The gunslinger shrugged. "That's fair enough. Damn, as if my dad isn't pissed enough with me…"

Walkaway grew somber, looking out across the vast sea beyond the docks. "I've decided to quit the Organization, same as the Yit-Yot dudes. I only joined to shoot up some scum that broke off of it, keep them off the streets. But you're right, there are better ways to do that. Much better ways."

"What do you plan to do now?" Volta asked.

"Don't know," Walkaway admitted. "Maybe I'll try my hand at vigilante work. Something more positive. This world doesn't need another assassin; it just needs someone willing to fight the bad guys."

Volta smiled. "I wish you luck."

"Me as well," Zoro said. "Perhaps we'll meet again, the three of us."

"I hope so!" Wingo exclaimed. "Alright, sayonara my dudes!" And with that he tossed his suitcase in the air, jumped, and came crashing down on it, riding it down the hundreds of steps to the docks below. "WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeee-"

"He's such a child," Zoro snarked, without heat.

"Yeah," Volta agreed. "He's an odd one, but he's got a good heart. I wonder where it will take him…"

The two walked down normally, Volta taking note of what they had as they went. Zoro was virtually unchanged from when they had arrived, with the exception of the thick bandages wrapped around his waist. His ribs were bruised, but it wasn't too bad; turned out the stalagmites had been pretty thin, even cushioning his fall to an extent. Heck, his bald spot had already filled in with fuzz! That was just unfair.

Volta smirked at his own messiness. His boots were in good shape but dirty as hell, his pants ragged and torn, and the he still looked like he was balding young. A new outfit would be necessary, as well as a barber. Something stylish; he had the money for it. His notebook and pen resided in his back pocket, but he didn't want to replace those and rewrite everything.

And of course, his sword. He had finally cracked the mystery of the cube-shaped butt; a tiny switch clicked it open, revealing the chamber. And it was empty. He would have to do something about that.

"You know," Zoro began. "I think the Organization is going to be after us in force now."

"Very likely," Volta agreed. "But we'll be ready for them."

The swordsman grinned. "Training?"

"Yes, and lots of it. I have a few ideas."

"Feel free to share," Zoro encouraged. "But I'll shoot down any bad ideas. I'm a bit of a stickler when it comes to these things."

"More like a tyrant."

"Hey, I resent that! For that matter, I still haven't gotten you back yet for calling me stupid. I believe humiliation is in order."

Volta smirked. "Oh?"

"Last one to the bottom has to shave all his hair off."

"HAHAHA, for me that's an improvement!"

Zoro grinned. "We'll see about that."

The two of them jumped on their suitcases, racing down the ancient stone steps like two kids at a skatepark. Volta laughed; sometimes, a bit of childishness wasn't a bad thing at all.

But even in their shared joy, he couldn't shake the shadow of the future. Luffy loomed large in his mind, a faceless harbinger of doom. The hero he may be, but a pirate he would become, and one that would take the throne; he was now sure that was how the story ended. Volta shuddered to think what destruction his victory could wrought upon the world, whether Luffy desired it or not.

Because, no matter how you sliced it, a new Pirate King would shake the world. And a shaken world could be destroyed.

"I'll stop him," Volta whispered, the wind stealing his words. "If it is his fate to be the Pirate King, then I'll change it. This isn't a story anymore; this is reality."

And then another thought struck him, one that filled him with a deep, sinking horror.

Wasn't Zoro fated to join Luffy's crew?

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Phew!**

**Yeomanaxel, the Verified Yeo.**


	7. The Magic Hat

**Chapter 7 – The Magic Hat**

Bad weather plagued the trip back to Retasu Island, but eventually, its rolling green hills appeared over the horizon. Zoro breathed a sigh of relief, but Volta refused. Not until the plant was in Dr. Huno's hands.

"You know, maybe we should avoid talking to him," Zoro said. "You stole a bunch of stuff from him, including a scalpel. Let's just leave it at the front steps and walk away."

Volta nodded. "Agreed."

They disembarked and walked through Lettuce Town, Zoro carrying the suitcases and Volta holding the plant. He found himself falling in love with the city all over again, the perfect blend of construction and vegetation a treat for the eye. All too soon they found themselves walking up the hill, toward St. Carick's Hospital.

Volta looked down at the pot in his arms, a small golden plant growing out of it. "You know, as annoying as this fetch quest was, it ended up doing a lot of good. We took out a crime family, helped a couple of assassins get back on the right track, and gained valuable intel on a much bigger threat to the public."

Zoro scratched his head. "What it did was cause us a lot of trouble. But you're not wrong either. I'm just glad to be finished."

The front yard had changed. The wreckage of the last Tamago Tree had been removed, stump and all, leaving a deep hole in the ground. A pile of dirt sat beside it, two shovels sticking out. All the dried blood had been cleared from the path.

"I think I know what to do." Volta set the pot down, grabbed the shovel, and began filling in the hole. Zoro took up the other, and together the new soil was laid in only a few minutes.

With expert care, Volta tipped the pot over, sliding the sapling and its soil out without damaging the stem. He dug a small opening in the ground and planted the tree. He patted the soil, wiped his hands on his pants, and admired his handywork.

Suddenly, the sapling shook, wiggling erratically. The shocked hunters jumped back. "What the hell did you do!?" Zoro gasped.

"Not sure," Volta responded. Before he could say more, the sapling shot up, doubling in size. The leaves became brighter for a second, then dimmed to their usual golden shine.

"Damn, Huno wasn't kidding," Zoro remarked. "These things grow fast."

Volta smiled. "Mission complete. Debt repaid."

The two walked away, leaving the plant to grow. A gentle wind stirred the young leaves, but it did not break them. Neither would the storms, the snows, the hail or the lightning. Over the years, this plant, from a species infamous for fragility, would become known as the Miracle Tree, for nothing in nature seemed capable of felling it.

And unbeknownst to the two young bounty hunters, this tree would last a thousand years, providing enough medicine to save the lives of a million humans and half as many pets. It would grow taller than any hill, rising higher and higher, as if trying to reach the sun.

.~===)==============={%}

"Yahyahyah, welcome back Roronoa!" Rokka hadn't changed at all, still as cheerful and smelly as ever.

"Glad to be back," Zoro grinned. "I'm here to collect my stuff."

"Yer just in time, almost had ta throw it all out! Not that's I'd ever do that ta you, Mister Roronoa!"

"You can just call me Zoro."

Rokka waved his hand. "Nah, gotta be professional!"

"Despite just claiming you'd do something unprofessional for a friend," Volta smirked.

"YAHYAHYAH, I like this one!" Rokka guffawed. "Ya keeping him around?!"

"More or less," Zoro chuckled. "He's my apprentice in the sword."

"Well, here's yer key!" He tossed it over the counter, Zoro catching it between his fingers. He entered the locker room, but Volta didn't follow him. Instead, he examined the big painting on the wall.

Upon closer inspection, the five men weren't just old. Some of them looked _ancient, _especially the beardless one, who bore an uncanny resemblance to Gandhi. He sat in-between what could have been a Jewish rabbi, hands clutched around a gnarled cane, and a parody of the Monopoly man, hatless and scowling. Two more hovered behind the couch, one thin and sporting a long-pointed beard, while the other had only a short blonde one and looked rather young in comparison to the others.

Some bore scars, and the oldest held a katana, which rested on his shoulder. Volta had no doubt it was a Meito blade, perhaps of Supreme Grade. Only the best for the rulers of the world, for that is what they certainly were, either in the past or the present.

"The Five Elder Stars," Rokka breathed. "I see yer a fan of them."

"Just admiring the painting," Volta responded. "It's beautiful."

"Indeed. You'll find one like it in every outpost from here to Mariejois. Some Marine bases too."

Volta furrowed his brow. "Mariejois? Is that the capital?"

Rokka gave him a fish-eyed stare. "Ya pulling me leg?! Course it's the capital! Everyone knows that!"

"I'm not everyone," Volta snarked. "And I've come from a place a hell of a lot further then here."

The keykeeper shrugged. "I won't get my shorts bunched or nothing, but ya best be careful not ta share yer ignorance too much. Ignorance, looks, hygiene, speech; all that stuff can make people think yer an idiot, even if ya ain't one. So best be careful now."

"I'll keep that in mind. By the way, I noticed you have a chessboard in the corner. Do you play?"

"Yahyahyah, sure do! Woulda like a game?"

As it turned out, Rokka's words applied to himself; what followed next wasn't so much a game as it was a massacre. As Volta watched his last pawn get snatched off the table, he promised himself to never again judge on appearances.

"Aaaand, checkmate! Better luck next time Volta! Yahyahyahyahyah!"

.~===)==============={%}

The _Root _was a modest pub with a terrifying history, one so steeped in drunken depravity I won't recount it here. All I'll say is that the previous four owners got a one-way ticket straight to Impel Down, the fifth hoping to break the trend by refusing to sell any more vodka. He caved when held at swordpoint by an irate green-haired teenager, who proceeded to guzzle it down, go batshit crazy, and stumble upon a tattooed vampire on the beach.

"Wow," Volta breathed, as Zoro recounted him the whole story. "You have fewer scruples then I thought."

"The past is in the past," the swordsman hissed. "Let us never speak of this again."

"That may be difficult," Volta responded, "since we're going to that pub right now."

The squat, cabbage-like building had a distantly sallow look to it, like a vegetable on the edge of edibility. The interior looked marginally better, but its customers did not. Volta noted two faces he had seen among Zoro's bounties, one bald and smiling, the other hidden behind a weird mask, part dog and part ram.

"Well, what do you know," Zoro whispered. "Tacobo and Sard, worth a million and forty grand respectably."

The two hunters glided over, the criminals too preoccupied with their drinks to notice the newcomers. With a chop to the neck, Sard went down hard, and Tacobo found himself in the crook of an elbow.

"Ack, let go of me ya punk!" He struggled against Zoro's chokehold to no avail, legs kicking erratically. The table got knocked over, but the swordsman didn't budge. With a final squeeze, the man slackened and slipped into unconsciousness.

"Well, that's one way to replace the money we spent getting here," Volta quipped.

"Tell me about it," Zoro chuckled. "Oi, Uokka, can ya get us a cold one and a glass of water?"

"Damn you Zoro!" the thin bartender screeched. "Ya think I'd serve you after causing _another _incident in my bar?!"

"These guys _burn _bars!" Zoro shouted back. "That's why they got bounties in the first place! Consider this an apology for last time. Make that cold one low-alcohol!"

Uokka narrowed his eyes. "Fine. Thanks, I guess…"

After shredding the criminals' clothes and using them to tie up the pair, Zoro and Volta found themselves enjoying a relative moment of peace. They finished their drinks, and remarkably Zoro didn't ask for another.

"Were you lying about the bar burning?" Volta asked. "The posters don't specify crimes."

"That's the newspaper's job," Zoro explained. "And no, I wasn't. Guess fate's smiling on me to put them in my path." He set his stuff on the table, and Volta did the same with the suitcases. He opened them cautiously, eyeing the other seedy customers. With a nod from Zoro, he opened up his pouch of emergency money and dumped it in, then carefully sorted it.

"We have, between the two of us…twenty-four million and fifty-eight thousand berries," Volta counted. "I'm a little miffed we burned through all our Albedya money on ever-lasting torches, but this makes up for it, all things considered."

"We didn't even keep those torches," Zoro huffed. "And they went out damn quick when we faced that chicken-snake. What a bum deal."

Volta smirked. "It do be like that sometimes. Anyway, you've got your training swords and emergency money together, so does that mean we're heading off?"

"That's right." Zoro's expression became serious, even more so then when they had faced that accursed monster. "My swords aren't doing too well." He pulled all three out halfway, and Volta gulped. Wado Ichimonji looked alright, though Volta wasn't an expert on swords and didn't think he'd be able to tell one way or the other. But the other two were a different matter; hairline cracks ran through them, and even as Zoro slid them back in Volta swore he saw a piece fell off.

"Damnit," he snarled. "I keep using too much of my strength! I don't know if I can get these two fixed this time." He slumped in his seat, brooding over his empty glass.

Volta pulled out his rapier and inspected it closely. He slid the blade out, eyeing his reflection. "How's this?"

Zoro gave it a glance. "Not terrible. Meito blades can take a beating and still be as sharp as ever, though you should get it looked at when we go see Kajiya."

"Who's that?"

"The only blacksmith in this part of the East I trust." A terrible growling filled the air. Volta looked down. "Maybe we should eat something first," he said. "Food helps one think, as a friend of mine once said."

A quick lunch ensued, the suitcases and shinai stored under the table. Zoro added his crackers to the meal; tasteless, but suprsingly filling. "How expensive is this blacksmith?" Volta asked between bites of fried rice.

"Fairly cheap," Zoro answered, followed by a great slurping of spaghetti.

"I need new clothes," Volta stated. "I can't just run around the East wearing these pants. They're so stiff I can barely sit down in them."

Zoro pursed his lips. Then he smiled like a cat. "There's a tailor just down the street. I think he's your guy."

.~===)==============={%}

Ocket P. Lint's Professional Tailory was small, but tightly packed, filled with racks and shelves to the point of looking overstuffed. But there was a neatness within the chaos, a fastidiousness that spoke of great care and effort. Volta didn't consider himself a man with a fashion sense, but he liked what he saw. Everything looked comfortable but attractive, and while he wouldn't be caught dead in half of it, he had a feeling there was something here for everyone.

Mr. Lint appeared, a small, wrinkled old raisin of a man with a twirled gray mustache and eyes as sharp as diamonds. His own little suit looked tailor-made, but of course it did. As soon as they locked eyes, a smile spread across his face. "Bounty hunters."

"That's right," Volta said. "We're here for some white shirts and a new outfit."

"Hm, I can tell who needs what," Lint muttered. He brushed some of his namesake from his jacket, before reaching past Zoro and flipping the shop's sign. "Follow me."

Through the overstuffed racks and precarious shelves of fabric, they followed him all the way behind the counter, into a back room in the officer. Mr. Lint gave them both the evil eye. "My blood, sweat, and tears have gone into the creation of everything within this room. Don't tell a soul what's back here."

They nodded in agreement, and he opened the door. Volta gasped.

A vast, bizarre selection of outfits, so ludicrous they could only have existed within the confines of a circus, a fashion show, or…well, a Japanese comic book. Suits with holes in them, shirts covered in zippers, a whole line of thick brown longcoats with golden chains attached to their sides. Witch and wizard hats in an array of garish colors, boots that went up to the knee with gleaming buckles, shoulder pads, striped scarfs, a freaking _sailor outfit complete with cap and ascot…_

Volta slapped himself. He had started to go cross-eyed. "That's the usual reaction," Lint sniffed. "Now then…"

He reached into a large crate, pulling out a stack of five white shirts identical to Zoro's. "Yours looks in poor condition, here are some spares." He threw them to the swordsman, who stuffed them all into his haramaki. Which didn't puff out in the slightest?

"How much stuff can you fit in there again?" Volta asked incredulously.

Zoro grinned. "Just more stomach training. Hey Lint, I could use a new pair of trouser too." He tossed them the swordsman's way, and they too disappeared into the dark abyss between fabric and chest.

Lint turned to Volta, his eyes twitchy but observant. "Now, as for you…hmm…correct me if I'm wrong, but your tattoos aid you in combat, yes?"

For just a second, the young hunter's eyes popped right out of his head, then jumped back in. He would have screamed if he wasn't so shocked. "How?!"

"When you're in the business as long as I've been," Lint smirked, "You know a hunter's schtick with a look. Same with pirates… not that I'd sell to them."

"I see…" Volta furrowed his brow. "Then…what do you suggest for me?"

"We have many open jackets," Lint said as he rummaged through the racks of brown longcoats. "Mostly in this color." He looked at Volta again and frowned. "But brown isn't your style; it's black. Hmmm…."

The little man scurried to the way back of the room, a corner shrouded in dust and old fabric. He cackled with the glee of discovery, and from this mound of unused material, still hung on a fallen hanger, emerged an outfit of shocking edginess. A black longcoat, its sleeves cleanly removed just below the shoulders, which were studded with dozens of small, silver spikes. These spikes traveled up to a high-backed collar, wrapping around the back and stopping just short of the front edges, lest someone stab their neck while putting it on. The coat had no buttons and reached a little above the ankles. Folded on the hanger's inner bar was a pair of black trousers. Volta reached out and felt the garments, amazed at their softness. Curious, he gave it a soft tug, and it didn't tear at all. He tugged harder, but it still didn't give.

"You won't rip it easily," Lint said. "It's called stretch-silk; soft, flexible, and tough as nails. They make Marine coats out of it. Here, try it on."

Carefully, he pulled the coat off the hanger, slipped his arms through the holes, and slowly pulled it tight against his back, mindful not to prick himself. It fit perfectly. He turned to Zoro. "What do you think?"

The swordsman looked him over for quite some time. "It…fits. Honestly, I was prepared to laugh my ass off, but it suits you. Even compliments your tattoos."

In no time at all, Lint had a full-length mirror in front of the hunter. Volta couldn't believe his eyes. It looked so…natural. There was no other word for it. "Do you have a changing room?" he asked.

"Don't worry, Mister…"

"Volta. Damian Volta."

"Yes, right. Let's clear out! Give the man some privacy!" Before he could interject, Lint pushed Zoro right out of the room, a crazed grin on his face. "Tell me when you're ready!" And with that, he slammed the door, leaving Volta alone.

"I guess this _is_ the changing room," he muttered. He removed the coat and hung it back up, searching the room for necessities. He found a box of white socks behind the sailor suit, the kind often used in sports and exercise. Taking off his boots, he donned a pair, wiggling his toes within to see how they fit. When he was satisfied, he pulled his pants off and tossed them, slipping on the black trousers and zipping them up. He put on his boots, tucked in the leg ends, and after a moment's consideration, licked his thumb and rubbed the buckles. When they shined in the weak light, he threw on the longcoat, utterly certain he would never cut himself upon its sharp edges. Then he faced the mirror.

"…FFFFFPHAHAHAHAHAHA!" He tried to stop laughing, but he couldn't help himself. "I look like a Hot Topic mascot," he wheezed. "There's no way I can wear this…no bloody way…"

And yet, he knew. Knew that no matter how hard he wanted to deny it, Zoro was right. Silly, gothic, quite literally edgy, but unquestionably dangerous. Volta touched one of the spikes and winced as it pricked his finger. Not enough to draw blood, but damn close. He smiled. "Edgy indeed…the right amount of edgy to take the edge off of suspicion. No one will take me seriously until it's far too late."

He spun, watching the coat twirl with him. He flapped it, the sound resonating through the room. It exposed his arms and chest, allowing the tattoos to spring forth without issue. Hell, with enough practice, he could make the ones on his back weave around his coat. His legs were completely covered, but he couldn't control the ink on them yet, so that was alright.

He put his hands on his hips, staring deep into his own reflection. He frowned. Something was missing. He felt as if he needed just a bit more to complete the getup. Then it hit him. A belt! His trousers had belt loops on them.

He searched the room more thoroughly, hunting for the accessory. He hit the jackpot with a small crate, full of tightly coiled leather and shiny buckles. Most were brown or gray, some made of cloth, but near the bottom, he found what he was looking for. Unwinding it, he caught sight of the buckle, and all thoughts of clothing slipped out of his mind.

A small silver circle, within which was a gleaming raven's head.

"Well," he breathed. "That's disconcerting. What the bloody hell does it mean?" He glared at it as if it would come alive and give him the answers he sought. "Raven on my back, raven on the buckle…coincidence? Maybe…" But he didn't believe it. Coincidence didn't exist in a world where you could turn into a beer bottle and shatter a boulder with a punch.

Still, he could dwell on the mystery later; he was taking too long. He slipped the belt through the loops and tightened it just so, sliding the extra leather through the loop again. It completed the outfit wonderfully, the buckle noticeable but far from garish, a welcome contrast to the pale skin and solid black flame patterns that stretched and swirled across his muscled chest.

"I'm done!" he called. The door swung open, and a high-pitched scream filled the room, one not uncommon among twelve-year-old school girls. "Magnificent!" Lint screeched, hopping up and down like a little mustachioed toad, face split by a grin that made him look decades younger. "Absolutely, magniiiiificent! I love it when a hunter finds their look! Truly, I've never seen anyone quite as snug in their clothing as you! Zoro, you much see this masterpiece of mine!"

"Hey, not bad!" Zoro complimented, a rare thing for him. "Damn, you even found a matching belt? What a coincidence!"

Volta smiled and nodded.

Suddenly, Lint stopped hopping, his smile fading. "Hmmmmm…I may have spoken too soon," he stated, all at once as grave as a tombstone. "It's beautiful, yes…but incomplete! You need a hat!"

The hunter snorted. "My hair will grow back eventually."

"It's not about your hair!" Lint exclaimed. "It's about _style! _Don't you want to look your best as you clobber criminals?!"

Volta blinked. "I…suppose…"

"Here, try this on!" Lint thrust a hat into Volta's arms, a wide-brimmed black fedora with a band of crimson he had pulled form…somewhere.

"…alright." Volta donned the hat, looked at himself in the mirror, and knew it wouldn't work. The red had no place, and the brim drooped over his eyes.

"Oh, you're right," Lint said, his sharp eyes noting the problem. "I let my excitement get the better of me, that won't work at all."

"If it's alright with you," Volta requested. "Let me pick the hat." He looked around the room, ignoring Lint's humph and Zoro's chuckle. A variety of hats sat on shelves above him, a few black but broken by strips of bright color. He looked at himself in the mirror again.

Bright colors weren't going to work with him; between his tattoos and pallor, he wouldn't look good in any of them. He needed something white.

And that's when his eyes settled on it. Perfect in every way. He reached up and grabbed it, feeling the dark fabric, tracing the bright white stripe that ran around it. The tip curved perfectly into a neat little spiral tipped with a pearl eerily similar to the one on the end of his sword's tassel.

He put it on, watched it slide over his bald spot, and knew it was meant to be. "I'll take it," he declared confidently.

Lint blinked, his mustache wilting. "But…but…that's…"

Zoro couldn't hold it in any longer. "HAHAHAHAHA!" He fell to the ground, roaring with laughter.

"I know it's a witch's hat," Volta sighed. "But it fits…doesn't it?"

Lint looked on the verge of a conniption. "Well…yes…but, I, how…it even synergizes with your head, but…oh, OH! YES, I SEE IT NOW!" He regained his vigor once more, clapping with delight. "MAGNIFICANT!"

"Magnificent indeed," Zoro wheezed. "What the hell, if it works for you, I've got no problem with it." He smiled maliciously. "But if sailing around with you makes people think I'm just as weird as you, you better be ready to experience _hell_."

"Trust me Zoro," Volta smirked. "You have nothing to worry about on that front."

"SNARK LATER, PAY NOW!" Lint cried. "I want you to go out into the world, let it experience the full glory of Damian Volta!"

"What's all this gonna cost?" Volta asked, a little afraid of the answer.

"Ten million, three hundred and fifty-eight thousand berries! Taxes are taken into account."

Zoro blanched. "That's crazy! You can buy a good sword with that money! Plus, Volta smells like mildew, this stuff is old!"

"And washable without shrinking!" Lint thundered. "As for you, I need ten thousand for each shirt!"

The swordsman turned red, but Volta put a hand on his shoulder. "It's not a problem," he said politely. "I have a little more then that, so I can pay. For the longcoat, hat, pants, and belt, right?"

"And the socks!" Lint declared. "Even socks weigh something! Don't think I didn't notice the additional effort you put into raising your foot!"

Now it was Volta's turn to blanch. "Bloody hell, you're good."

"Good doesn't even begin to cover it," Mr. Lint boasted. "Do you honestly think I'm on the same level as Doskoi Panda or D&B? Those stores only give you clothing you _think _you want, when in reality it is what everyone wears! I refuse to offer that wretched conformity! I _refuse_ to offer _just_ clothing…I will always offer _style! _Do not think for a _moment_ I won't charge you less then the value of finding what makes you _youI_"

Volta nodded. "I said I would pay you, and I will. Zoro, where's my suitcase?"

"Right here," the green-haired teen said, placing it in Volta's awaiting hands. "We need to hurry, before those two lunkheads outside wake up."

Volta walked over to the buying counter and opened the suitcase, putting the thick stacks of paper in a little pile. "Alright, that's ten mil right there, and as for the other three hundred something-"

"Fifty-eight!" Lint reminded.

"Right, right." He broke up one of the stacks and counted the bills by hand until all the money was on the table. Lint giggled with glee as he stuffed the cash under his desk, while Volta took off his hat and set it on the counter, searching it for a tag. "Do you still need to ring this up?"

"I don't use tags," Lint stated pridefully. "I _refuse_ to conform!"

Before Volta could respond, he felt a sudden stinging in his hand. Stuck near the curling tip of the hat was a small pin, the kind used for sewing. Its rounded top was grayish-green, and it had pricked the hunter hard enough to draw a little drop of blood.

Volta pulled it out. "Bloody hell, even this hat has a sharp-"

_SHUMP!_

Zoro, admiring a Hawaiian-style vest, jerked at the sound. "The hell was that noise?"

"What noise?" Lint asked, closing his desk drawer. He looked up. "Hey…where's Volta?"

The swordsman turned toward the counter, but only Lint stood near it. Volta was nowhere to be seen.

"What?!" Zoro rushed over. "How the-"

_SHUMP!_

Lint blinked, then rubbed his eyes. Where Zoro had once stood was…no one.

No one at all.

.~===)==============={%}

Zoro hit the table so hard it cracked in two. He rolled off it with a groan, and immediately felt a sudden softness. He shook his head to get his bearings and found himself on a long sofa, the color of cream and almost too comfortable.

The situation was too strange for Zoro to relax, and he immediately got to his feet, Wado Ichimonji out and ready. "Volta! Where the hell are we?!"

"That's a very good question," he replied. "And I think I know the answer." Volta was staring at the ceiling, mouth agape. Zoro looked up, and _his_ mouth fell open.

They were in a small, square room, but the Tailory's ceiling was still over their heads. Only, it looked much, much further away, a great gap laying between it and the tops of the walls. Which could only mean that, for the room Volta and Zoro were in right now, there _wasn't_ a ceiling, just an opening from which they could see the larger world. And that, in turn, meant only one thing.

"We've shrunk!" Volta cried. "We've gone inside something and shrunken in the process!"

"What?!" Zoro cried. "How is that possible?!"

Then Lint appeared. The little man had grown monstrous, a giant whose head filled the open space. A deeply befuddled expression sat on his face, and he brought his head closer to the room.

Then, without warning, it happened. For just a fraction of a second, Lint seemed to _warp_, as if his head had been squeezed through a juicer. And then he was falling, hitting the table and crashing right through it.

"OOH, MY SLEEEN!"

Zoro rushed to the old man's aid, getting him to his feet. With a sickening crack, Lint straightened, then smiled. "Never mind, just my spinal cord."

"That's even worse!" Zoro cried. "And just to make sure we don't forget, I'll say it again; _where the hell are we?!_"

"That is a good question indeed," Lint gasped, staring at the ceiling. "In all my years of selling magic hats, I've never encountered one as strange as this!"

"Magic?!" Volta cried. "Why didn't you tell me the hat was magic?!"

"It's a witch's hat!" Lint shouted back. "I thought that would be obvious!"

"EVERYONE SHUT UP!" Zoro roared. He took a very long breath, counted to seven on his fingers, and exhaled long and hard. He cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders. "Volta," he began, voice level. "Do you have an _idea _of where we are?"

Before Volta could answer, a creaking sounded from the ruined table. It began to rise from the ground, reforming into a solid, well-polished piece of furniture again. The two halves melded together, and the countless splinters around them flew back where they had been. In just a few seconds, no trace of damage remained.

"Fuck me," Zoro breathed.

"Language."

The swordsman ignored him, staring hard at the table. Without warning, he slashed clean through it with his blade, then brought his fist down right after. It buckled and cracked, and for a moment all was still. Then the repairs began anew. Zoro winced as a splinter in his fist ripped itself out, shook his blood off, and slipped back into the wood.

"Oh, _fuck me,_" he moaned. "What the hell has my life become? How did I go from training and drinking to fighting giant snake chickens and fetching golden plants for cheapskate doctors? And now I'm stuck inside a _living_ living room!"

"You fought a Chicantazor?!" Lint exclaimed. "Most impressive!"

"Zoro, calm down," Volta soothed. "I don't think we're stuck." He jumped onto the table, looking up at the wooden rafters far above them. He jumped again.

_SHUMP!_

He didn't feel pain; just a slightly uncomfortable pressure that disappeared before it had a chance to fully register. And he was back in the shop, right where he had been standing. The hat lay on the counter, slightly ruffled.

"Hey, guys! Can you hear me?!"

"Yeah, I hear you! Step aside!"

Volta did so, and a moment later Zoro appeared, spat out of the hat so fast it looked like…well, magic.

Then Lint appeared, knocking into the swordsman and sending him sprawling onto the ground. "I'm free!" he cried. "I'll never dabble in magic again! I'm too old for this stuff!"

Volta ran around the counter, grabbing the hat by the floppy top. "Everyone stay back," he commanded. "This thing is sensitive. All it takes to get-"

_SHUMP!_

An entire rack of Hawaiian shirts disappeared as if it had never been. Volta gulped and tried to set the hat down carefully.

_SHUMP!_

And there went the briefcase, with the remains of Volta's money. As well as a stack of corduroys.

"Damnit Volta," Zoro growled. "Forget style, I'm cutting this hat in two!"

"Don't!" Lint cried. "Magical items are unstable! Who knows what could happen if you try to destroy it! My shop could be ruined!"

Volta very, _very _carefully set the hat upright on the counter, opening closed off at last. Nothing happened. "Mr. Lint, is this counter nailed to the floor?"

"Indeed."

"Alright, then we know this thing has limits. It can only suck in things that aren't connected to bigger things. And the room and furniture inside are a part of the power and can regenerate if damaged." He looked at the pin, still between his thumb and pointer finger. "I think this little needle cancels out the ability. If I put it back in, I can wear it without a problem."

"No, wait!" Lint cried. "If it cancels the ability, then that means-"

But it was too late. Volta stabbed it back through the tip, and all at once the items it had consumed shot out, crushing the counter under their weight. Shirts and corduroys flew everywhere, Volta's briefcase whacking Lint on the head, knocking him out cold.

Volta blinked. "Oops."

"Oops is right," Zoro groaned. "I think it's time for us to go."

The rushed out of the store in a hurry, Volta leaving his briefcase behind. Something told him poor Mr. Lint would need it more then he did soon.

.~===)==============={%}

Once again, Retasu Island disappeared over the horizon, the two hunters traveling toward their next destination.

"Well, turning in those small fries got us a million and forty grand, but in two days' time, we still went from twenty-five million to a bit more then twelve," Zoro grumbled. "I try not to care too much about money, but if we keep up this pace we'll be starving by the end of this week."

"I'm sorry things got so out of hand," Volta apologized, resting against the railing. He watched the deckhands carefully but didn't sense anything off about them. Which was a relief; maybe their next stop would be peaceful for once.

"But you know, this magic hat could come in handy."

"How?" Zoro questioned. "You can't store anything in it, because the moment you put the pin back in to wear the damn thing, it all comes flying out!"

"Maybe that's because we're using it wrong," Volta countered. "I'll explore it later, but right now I could use a nap. So could you, to be honest; you don't look like you've slept well these past few days." He leaned back further, tipping the hat over his eyes.

Zoro shrugged. "I love naps, but all this crazy stuff has me on edge. I didn't expect things to get so strange."

"That goes double for me," Volta smirked. "This world is totally bananas. I wish I had escaped my homeland years ago." _Not that I would have been able to,_ he added mentally.

"Hm…you know, all this weird stuff started happening when I met you."

"Don't blame me for your problems!" Volta laughed. "I'm sure you would have fought that Chicantazor sooner or later. You're like a magnet for near-death experiences!"

"If that's what it takes for me to be the World's Greatest Swordsman, then so be it." Zoro turned over. "I just hope I meet Mihawk one day soon. Three more years and this dream will be a decade old." He closed his eyes with a smile. "I don't want Kuina to have to wait very much longer."

"What did you say?" Volta asked.

But Zoro had already fallen asleep. Volta smiled, before drifting off himself.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Tailory is not a word, but it should be. Baker to bakery, tailor to tailory. The Magic Hat is another holdover from my SI attempt, BANG! And believe it or not, Tacobo and Sard ARE actual One Piece characters, though one is only seen on his poster in a filler episode and the other in an anime-only flashback. Still pretty cool!**

**Yeomanaxel, the Verified Yeo.**

**EDIT: Oops, forgot to change the title! All fixed now. **


	8. Cozia Arc Part 1

**Chapter 8 – Fruits and Training**

Volta rested on the deck, reading the latest newspaper. Nothing of note, at least not in the East Blue, and there were no new wanted posters to examine. He set it down and stood up, stretching his stiff arms and legs. Zoro slept soundly nearby, a snot bubble growing and shrinking with each snore.

As Volta watched the waves, he pondered the abilities of his new hat. Its pocket-dimension could be extremely useful, but he hadn't had time to properly explore it, and he didn't know how to keep stuff in and still wear it.

So, he decided to find out. He pulled the pin, and immediately found himself back in the room. His feet landed right on the table, which he jumped off and studied. The marks his boots had left disappeared, the table unblemished once more.

Three identical sofas surrounded the table, a sturdy brown piece of wood that looked like Mahogany, if such a wood existed in this world. The sofas were adorned with dark round cushions. Volta sat down with a sigh, his body sinking into the comfortable furniture.

Curious, he pulled out his rapier, scabbard secure under his belt. He impaled one of the cushions, and with a flick of the wrist, slashed it in two. Seconds later, it began to mend, feathers stuffing themselves back in and cloth re-stitching itself together.

"Stranger and stranger," Volta muttered. He looked around the room, but no other furniture was present. A soft, dark brown rug lay under the table and sofas, but other than that the room had no adornments, its plain beige walls devoid of paintings. The wooden floor was paneled nicely though, and no chandeliers hung from the ceiling, a plus in Volta's book.

…wait, a ceiling?!

Volta jumped to his feet. How could there be a ceiling? There hadn't been one before. He frowned, staring up in confusion.

A ceiling, when there should be none…but was it a ceiling? The darkness was so deep it looked almost like a starless, nighttime sky.

It only took a moments consideration for him to realize what had happened. "When I entered the hat, it fell straight to the deck, so the opening is facing the floor, the brim blocking out the light. Like an iPhone camera face-first on a desk, there's no picture."

He chuckled softly to himself, relieved he wasn't stuck. Out of reflex, he searched around for a light source, but there didn't seem to be any. "The room's brightness is independent of outside sources," Volta muttered to himself. "Another handy feature. Alright, time for some tests!"

He sheathed his sword and placed it under the table, then jumped on top of it and back into the real world. He took his hat off quickly, lest it suck him back in. He stabbed it with the pin, holding it out in front of him.

Nothing happened. He pulled the pin out and re-entered. Landing on the table, he looked up in time to see the sun fly over the opening like a comet, before the hat hit the deck again, this time facing Zoro. His snot bubble looked much larger, which meant the hat had rolled close to him.

_SHUMP!_

"Crap!" Volta jumped off just as Zoro warped in, his sleeping form hitting the table with a loud thud.

"AGH! The hell?!" He sat up with a scowl, snot covering his face and a cartoonish bump on his noggin.

Volta bit back a laugh. "Sorry, it got away from me."

"Geez man, can't ya keep your stuff to yourself?" Zoro jumped up, becoming a giant looking down upon the room. "Also, why can you see me, but I can't see you? It just looks dark in there."

"I'm not sure," Volta admitted. "But come back in. I want to show you something."

Zoro did so, looking under the table at Volta's prompting. The sword was still there.

"If things are stored under the table, then they don't fly out when the pin is put in," Volta explained. "Get your briefcase; once it's under the table, it's practically untouchable! No bandit will ever think to look in here!"

The swordsman grinned. "Looks like this place can be useful after all." He warped out and in quickly, sliding the briefcase under the table next to the rapier.

"We can sleep here too," Volta suggested. "And stay in here if it rains. This hat has a ton of uses."

"Not if you want to be my apprentice," Zoro chided. "Sensei always said that the lap of luxury was the folly of discipline."

He sat down on one of the sofas. "I'm not averse to a nap here now and then, but if we make this our norm, we'll never build our endurance. Bounty hunters often work in extreme conditions. What if we lose this hat, and find our soft, pampered backs can't handle the rugged mountain we make camp on?"

Volta nodded in understanding. "Well, if that's how you feel, we can remove these sofas, to prevent temptation." He paused. "_Two _of the sofas."

Zoro got up and tried to do just that, but the sofa didn't budge. He pushed even harder, still to no effect. Soon veins stood out from his arms and neck, his teeth grinding with effort.

Nothing.

"Stand back," he intoned. With a flash he unleased Wado upon the furniture, slashing it up with ruthless efficiency. Then he kicked, sending a piece of it flying upward toward the opening. It merely fell back down, and not a minute later the damage undid itself.

Zoro sighed in frustration, flopping onto the sofa in defeat. "Damn, I guess these are here to stay. What a shitty magic spell this is… if it _is _magic in the first place."

Volta sat down. "What do you mean?"

"I've been thinking a bit about what we've seen so far," Zoro said. "Specifically, our fight with the Bowi Family. Just a few weeks ago, I would never have believed the stories about Devil Fruits. It sounded like nonsense, a child's fantasy. But then we met Albedya, and he had the Beer-Beer Fruit, proving their existence."

"Glug-Glug," Volta corrected. "But yeah, you're right. Wait, are you suggesting that this is a Fruit ability?"

"While it _could _be magic," Zoro conceded. "We don't know if magic even exists; Mr. Lint's a master of his craft, but I've bought from him before, and he's full of bullshit more often than not. He could have been lying about dealing with magic. But we _know_ Devil Fruits exist."

Oh, the sweat drops were a-forming. Volt gave him a deadpan stare. "So, what you're saying, is that the _hat_ ate a Devil Fruit?"

Zoro scowled, his face turning red. "Damnit Volta, don't make me feel stupid! Of course, an object can't eat something. But what if a Devil Fruit fell inside the hat and…I don't know, melted into it somehow? We don't even know if they're really fruits, that could just be a name."

"I think we should do some research on the subject," Volta suggested. "Is there a library where we're going?"

"Maybe," Zoro shrugged. "If there is, I've never been to it. But I doubt we'll find much; if there was a book on Devil Fruits, they wouldn't be considered a myth. We can look around if you want, but I'd rather get to Kajiya as soon as possible. This island's _big, _and he lives near the center."

"I'll keep that in mind," Volta said. "I'm going back up."

"So am I. This place gives me the creeps."

.~===)==============={%}

The world of _One Piece _has no name; when referenced, people simply call in the world, or the earth, or the planet, or any other appropriate common noun.

From space, Zoro's rudimentary description held up; a large blue ball, a third larger than the Earth, yet carrying roughly half the population, due to the single continent being mostly uninhabitable. Hundreds of thousands of islands, most too small to be seen from space, divided into six oceans by the mountains of the Red Line and the deadness of the Calm Belts.

However, as the wealthy passengers of alien cruise liners have noted, some of the islands _could _be seen from space. These lands and their surrounding waters were considered regions all on their own, often as large as archipelagos and supporting just as many towns and ports. Each Blue had one, and for the North, South, and West Blues, these islands bore the names Miles, Baterilla, and Kano respectively. For the East, the land was called Cozia.

Volta stood in awe. The three islands he had visited before hadn't been small, but none held a candle to the vastness of what lay before him, a great rocky valley with mountains in the distance, and even more mountains beyond that distance. Small clumps of greenery broke up the barren landscape, and a river twisted its way through the large town next to the harbor, before emptying itself into the ocean.

"Besides the fighting," Zoro said. "The best part about being a bounty hunter is that you can go anywhere; you're not stationed to a base like a Marine. Tons of bandits and pirates flock to Cozia, hoping to hide in the mountains or raid the many settlements here, so it's a good place to make money." He grinned. "It's also one hell of a training ground."

"Have you been here before?" Volta asked.

"Briefly, when I was hunting Dareda." Zoro pulled out his stack of posters and handed one to Votla. A bald, disquieting face stared up at him, one eye shadowed and the other peering coldly from under a thick eyebrow. Most disturbing of all were the two nails driven into the sides of his head.

**WANTED**

**DEAD OR ALIVE**

**DAREDA**

฿ **13,000,000**

**If you encounter this individual, do not attempt to engage unless you are a marine, a World Government employee, or a registered bounty hunter or privateer. If capture is successful, turn into your nearest local Marine or WG facility. Rewards for dead bounties will be reduced; the specific amount varies per area.**

**MARINE**

"Looks dangerous," Volta said.

"He's a serial killer." Zoro's face twisted in disgusted. "Thirty-two victims, all found with nails driven through their bodies. A food critic through the tongue, a cook through the hands, a peeping tom through the eyes. His targets are random, some innocent, some not, but always impaled through the part that defines them. Or rather, what _he _thinks defines them."

Volta stared hard at the poster, burning the killer's features into his mind. "These are the kinds of people I despite most. Those that attempt to make statements to justify their own vile tendencies."

"I'm not sure if he's making a statement," Zoro said. "But whatever he's doing, he's good at it; five bounty hunters are among his kills."

Volta folded up the poster and gave it back to Zoro. "Let's put this Organization investigation on hold and get this guy first. Do you have a clue to his current location?"

"No," Zoro admitted. "He's even more slippery then the Alvida Pirates; one minute he's here in Cozia, the next he's all the way out on Mirrorball."

They docked, the captain waiting by the side to collect the fare. The trip had lasted three days, a total of nine hundred thousand berries. Volta wasn't sure why the rate for this ship was different from the last, since they all looked the same.

"We should get our own boat," he suggested. "It'll save us a lot of money."

"I tried before," Zoro responded, as he dumped a wad of bills into the captain's box. "But every time I sail alone, the winds randomly change direction and take me to the wrong place."

"…I see." Volta wiped away another sweat drop; he had grown used to them by now. "Well, two people are better than one, and we managed pretty well with Albedu's boat."

"If I recall," Zoro grinned. "You blew the helm of that ship to hell."

"I only did that once!" he exclaimed. "How many times did you get lost?"

Zoro blushed. "Hey, don't make this about me! Fine, I promise to not get lost if you promise not to blow up our ships."

Volta smirked. "I'll keep my end of the promise."

"Are you suggesting I can't keep _my _end?"

"I'm not suggesting anything," Volta said with a smile. "In any case, I've run out of ammo for the shotgun. And I didn't get a chance to look at it and see what kind it was so I can buy more."

Zoro nodded. "That's probably for the best. Looked hard to control, and its power could easily damage the scabbard if used too often."

"It would make for a good last resort," Volta countered. "And a cool finisher."

Zoro smirked. "True. Speaking of finishers, I've noticed that you don't name your attacks."

Volta snorted. "What's the point of doing that?"

"Naming an attack gives it power," Zoro stated confidently. "It helps you focus your energy into the move. More importantly, shouting out what you're gonna do reaffirms in your mind the strength of the move, that it won't fail you as you unleash it. Plus, it sounds cool."

Volta frowned. "But if you announce what your move is, won't your enemy have an idea of what's coming, and counter?"

"Not necessarily," Zoro said. "Most people name their attacks after things that have nothing to do with fighting. Furthermore, you don't shout out the name and _then _attack. You say the first half of the name, launch the attack, and then finish the name. Or you could say the last part _while _performing the move, but not the whole name before. Only a moron would do that."

"I see." Volta didn't see; the whole concept was just too ridiculous. He knew that anime did it a lot, but to do so in reality, and in the heat of battle of all things…

"Eh, I'm sure you'll come around," Zoro said, with perfect confidence. "I thought it was silly too, until my sensei demonstrated their importance. His attacks got stronger the louder he shouted. It was incredible!"

"Well, that's something to discuss another time," Volta concluded. They had reached the town, a sprawling affair of at least a hundred buildings. The Wild West-influences were strong, and Volta couldn't help but smile, fond memories of old westerns coming back to him.

A large sign hung above them.

**RIVERTOWN**

**ALL VISITORS WELCOME!**

**Pop: 2,345**

"And according to what I've heard," Zoro said. "This is the smallest coastal settlement." The biggest one is to the south, and it's its own kingdom. Much lusher there too."

Volta wasn't sure if the place had a library, but he was willing to find out. "I still want to know more about Devil Fruits. How about we look around for an hour. Then we can head to Kajiya's place.

Zoro nodded. "You go on ahead, I need to buy some stuff for the journey." He pointed to the building closest to them. "That's the general store. Can you get the briefcase?"

Once he had it, Zoro walked toward the store, Volta watching to make sure he entered without issue. Not that he thought Zoro's directional sense was _that _bad, but you never know…

"Heh, I wonder if that was a running gag in the story," he said to himself. "Well, in any case, where's the library?"

.~===)==============={%}

With a name like Rivertown, the main attraction needed no elaboration. Dozens of fishermen lined its sides, though Volta wasn't sure if they'd catch anything with such a strong current. As he watched them, two of the lines got tangled, provoking curses and threats from the two competing fishers. The rest chuckled in amusement. Volta wondered how many times this had happened before.

It soon became clear that the town had been built around the river, and not just literally. At least three mills churned through the current, and children constantly scooped up buckets of it, carrying water throughout the busy streets. Said streets bustled with activity, and most people wore the same, semi-modern clothing Volta saw everywhere else.

Occasionally a stetson-wearing cowboy would cross the hunter's path, golden stars gleaming on their leather vests and big revolvers fastened to their hips. Flashing them his badge was enough to keep them from asking questions, but they still peered suspiciously out from underneath their thick brims.

Five saloons, a beauty parlor, and a good number of storage barns later, Volta found his target. The building was small and poorly swept, but the interior did not disappoint. Books lined the shelves of every wall, and if the signs were any indication, the Dewey Decimal System was still in place.

"Thank goodness," Volta muttered, before turning to the front desk. "Excuse me ma'am, do you have any books on myths and legends?"

The young librarian smiled. "Sure do. What specifically were you looking for?"

"Two books; something specific and another that's more general. I'm looking for a book on Devil Fruits."

"Ah, now _that's _an interesting legend!" The librarian led him through the shelves, to the back of the building. "If I recall, the Devil Fruit Encyclopedia was written in 1245, by a man named Akiraka Nikakūno. Obviously fictional, but the level of detail he put into it was astonishing."

"And this library has a copy?" Volta asked excitedly.

"It's currently checked out at the moment," the librarian explained. "But there are a number of other Devil Fruit books in our Myths and Legends section that you may find interesting."

Volta suppressed a sigh of disappointment. Whatever the librarian thought, that Encyclopedia was all too real; if he could get his hands on it, he'd be able to learn enough about them to fight their wielders.

"Here we are!" The back portion of the library had a small table with four chairs. To Volta's delight, the table had a globe, and a rather large one at that. Zoro had been right; a red band and two white lines broke up the world. Dozens of tiny dots covered it, along with a few larger patches.

"Ahem!"

Volta turned around just in time to see a number of books slam in front of him. "Here you are!" the librarian chirped. "All five of our books on Devil Fruits!"

"Thank you for your assistance." Volta read the title of the topmost book.

**OF DEVILS AND ANGELS: HOW DEVIL FRUITS INSPIRED THE ANGEL BREAD TRILOGY**

He stared at it for a moment, uncomprehending. Then he shook his head and spread them across the table, certain the other four would be more useful.

**NIKAK****Ū****NO'S NIGHTMARE: HOW HIS DEVIL FRUIT ENCYCLOPEDIA PLANTED THE SEEDS FOR THE GERMA REVOLUTION**

**POLITICS IN THE DEVIL FRUIT ENCYCLOPEDIA, AND THEIR RELATION TO HISTORICAL ANALYSIS**

**SWIRLS OF CHANGE: HOW THE DEVIL FRUIT ENCYCLOPEDIA PREDICTED THE RISE OF THE GOLDEN AGE OF PIRACY**

**BECOMING THE SEED: TALES OF SEXUAL LIBERATION WITHIN THE DEVIL FRUIT ENCYCLOPEDIA**

"Was zur verdammten Hölle?!"

The librarian blinked. "Come again?"

Volta coughed into his hand, more than a little embarrassed. "Ah…ma'am. What do these books have to do with actual Devil Fruits?"

The librarian chuckled. "Sir, why would any of these books focus on the subject of Devil Fruits as if they were real? All of these texts pertain to analysis of the Devil Fruit Encyclopedia as a work of literature, which is what it is. Granted, some of them are a little…kooky, but I've read them all, and even that last one has profound things to say about Nikakūno's work."

"In fact, one of my colleagues here wrote an academic paper on it, about how every Devil Fruit entry was designed to poke fun at a societal woe at the time, making the book a fantastic example of political satire disguised as a guide to magical objects."

Volta took a deep breath. "I see. Are there any more books on Devil Fruits that you have?"

The librarian giggled. "Fraid not! But we have the entire Angel Bread series, as well as the latest release in the Alien Vegetable manga series. Food that gives you magic powers is a surprisingly rich genre of fantasy now, thanks to Nikakūno's legacy."

"I think I'll be alright." Volta sat down hard as the librarian returned to the counter, feeing more then a little depressed. On a whim, he flipped open the last of the five books, morbidly curious as to its contents.

He didn't last three minutes. "Lord have mercy on my soul," he whispered. He took off his hat and warped the book into it; he'd burn it later, to keep others safe from the horror.

Despite his disappointment, Volta wasn't about to give up. While the remaining four books had all been written under a false assumption, the names and powers of Devil Fruits could still be hidden within their pages, used as examples for 'historical analysis.' Perhaps even some info on how they worked. The prospect renewed Volta's determination, and he whipped out his notebook and wrote a new entry.

_May 15__th__, 1520_

_It's been a while. Sometimes I can forget to write for weeks at a time. Should try to fix that pattern of habit in the future._

_DEVIL FRUITS: NAMES AND POWERS_

Volta opened the first book and began to read, pen at the ready to jot down anything of value.

.~===)==============={%}

Five hours later, Zoro barged in, carrying a large sack over his shoulder. "You in here Volta?!"

"I believe he's still in the back," the librarian said. "He's quite the avid reader!"

"Good for him," Zoro muttered. He walked down the aisle, and found a table stacked high with books, so many that only half a witch hat could be seen of his partner.

"Volta, we need to get going. Daylight's fading."

The stacks parted, Volta peering out from between them. He looked up. "Huh, you're right. Sorry, got carried away."

Zoro whistled. "I'll say. What have you been doing, trying to read everything in the building?"

"Yep." Volta stood up and slipped his notebook in his coat. "I was mostly skimming, but I took a lot of notes. Plus, this place has a globe! I'm not sure how accurate it is…"

"Most globes are shit," Zoro stated bluntly. "They make everything too big or too small. I wouldn't trust them."

Volta nodded. "That's what I thought. But still, I got some good info out of it. Hey, what happened to your clothes?"

Zoro's usual white tee had been replaced with a long-sleeved shirt, colorless save for the faded red stripes that ran around the neck and down the arms. His black pants had an equally faded replacement, the bottoms of which didn't even go to his ankles. And where his boots had been were a pair of old, crusty sandals.

The swordsman grinned. "Unless you want that nice coat of yours to get wrecked, I'd suggest you put on the rags I got for you. We're trekking across the open valley, and the dust storms get fierce. I bought some goggles and handkerchiefs too."

Volta nodded. "Smart thinking. Toss me the bag."

Zoro did so, and Volta warped into the hat, quickly changing. The clothes were identical to his partner's, and terribly itchy, especially the sandals. He stored his usual outfit under the table, along with his notebook. He warped out and stuffed his hat into the sack. "Alright, let's go."

The sun was indeed fading as the two bounty hunters left the library. Volta smiled as the sun went down; even now, it's beauty always warmed his heart.

"Is it safe to travel at night?" he asked.

"As safe as the day," Zoro said. "Dust storms strike at all hours, but we should be fine in the light of the moon."

They passed through the town, following the course of the river. The fisherman and children were nowhere to be seen. Zoro supposed they gone home, to eat and talk around tables in the twilight hours.

The soft glow from the windows could only be candlelight; Volta knew it well, from his days in Waxtown. Such memories left a bitter taste on his tongue, a hint of guilt for the people he would never help there again. He turned his sight toward the rocks beyond and didn't look back as they jumped the fence and left Rivertown behind.

"Rivertown, Waxtown…why are we always attracted to simplicity?"

Zoro turned his head. "What was that?"

"Waxtown was the name of my home," Volta explained. He smiled softly, for this was nothing but the truth.

.~===)==============={%}

The moon shone so brightly, that for a moment Volta allowed himself to hope Zoro wouldn't get lost for once. It didn't last.

"Why are you trying to climb a mountain that's to the left of us?!" he cried. "Didn't you say Kajiya was in the center of the island?!"

"I'm trying to go North!" Zoro shouted back, a hundred feet above his companion. "That way, I can see exactly where the village is!"

"North and up are two different things, you idiot!"

Zoro paused. "Wait, they are?! Are you sure?!"

"Aaagh! Get down here right now!"

"Hell no, you don't know the way! I've been here before!"

"If you've been here before, then why the bloody hell are you not following your own directions?!"

Zoro was about to respond, but another dust storm kicked in, forcing him to cover his mouth. With a muffled sigh of defeat, he began sliding down the rocky cliff face, jumping the last few feet toward his partner below. "Maybe it wasn't the right direction, but I definitely would have seen the village from there!"

"We can't see anything with this storm blowing over our heads!" Volta shouted, the howl of the wind nearly drowning out his voice. "Let's retreat into the hat!"

"No can do!" Zoro shouted back. "If we both go in, it'll get tossed around by the wind, and we'll get even more lost!"

For an argument regarding getting lost from Zoro, it was surprisingly sound. Volta grimaced, his friend winking out of sight as the dust thickened around them. "We need a rock!" he screamed. "A small one, but big enough to hold the hat down without moving!"

There's a bunch right around us!" Zoro picked one up. "Hurry, get it out!"

Volta opened the bag and slipped it out, trying his best to keep more sand from getting in. The black witch's accessory flapped in the wind, and Volta had to hold it down for Zoro to pin it with his rock. A quick unpinning later, and the two crashed into the table below.

"Damn, that never gets any easier," Zoro grumbled, rubbing his side. A side that, to his shock, wasn't dusty at all. "What the hell?!"

Volta looked himself over. His dirtied clothing had been completely cleaned, and he could see without difficulty because his goggles weren't dusted over. "Bloody hell. This room doesn't let excess dust and dirt in. No wonder its always so clean in here."

Zoro flopped back on one of the sofa's breathing a sigh of relief. "Speaking of this place, did you figure out if it's a Fruit or not?"

Volta shook his head with a smile. "No, but thanks to the books I read, I've been able to learn a lot about them in general. Here, have a look." He reached under the table and retrieved his notebook, handing it to Zoro.

_15\. Mai 1520_

_Es ist schon eine Weile her. Manchmal kann ich vergessen, wochenlang zu schreiben. Sollte versuchen, dieses Muster der Gewohnheit in der Zukunft zu beheben. _

_DEVIL FRUITS: NAMEN UND MÄCHTE_

"Um…"

Volta snatched it back before the swordsman could go cross-eyed. "I guess all that dust must have clogged up my head," he chuckled. "Bloody hell, that's two language faux pas in one day…anyway, I'll just give you the short of it."

He sat down, flipping through the pages until he found the illustrations he made. "So, first things first, they really are Fruits, and while they resemble all kinds of real ones, you can tell them apart by the swirling patterns they have on their skin." He showed Zoro his drawings, a pear and a pineapple composed of dozens of spirals. Even the pear's stem seemed to twist on itself.

"Cool," Zoro said. "Do you know which ones those are?"

Volta pointed to the pear. "According to the books, this one is the String-String Fruit. It's supposed to represent the controlling nature of capitalism, and how large governments and industries have made the common man a puppet in their greedy schemes."

Zoro nodded. "Probably true, but what power does the Fruit give you?"

"The ability to produce and control strings," Volta answered. "It didn't elaborate. Unfortunately, everything I read was written as if Devil Fruits didn't exist, so there was lotof, quote on quote, 'literary criticism.'"

"Well, I didn't think Devil Fruits were real until a week ago, even with all the rumors I've heard. They must be pretty damn rare if people are writing about how fake they are."

"According to another book," Volta continued. "Stories of Devil Fruit sightings are more common on the Grand Line. If I had to guess, most of them are located there."

"That makes sense," Zoro agreed. "I've heard many rumors about that ocean too. It's supposed to be a pirate's graveyard, almost unnavigable."

"I tried to do some research into the Line as well." Volta scowled. "But the library had almost nothing of value, save a few old voyage logs that talked about something called a Knock-Up Stream. And even those gave no solid description of it."

Zoro couldn't help but chuckle at that. "A most unfortunate name."

Volta smirked. "Indeed. Getting back to Devil Fruits, the pineapple is called the Dark-Dark Fruit, and the eater of it can generate darkness."

"Darkness? Like, turning night into day?"

"The source says its gravity related," Volta explained. "Do you know what a black hole is?"

The swordsman frowned, thinking back to his sensei. Had he ever mentioned it? "Nope, can't say that I do."

"It's a space anomaly, one that occurs when a star dies. It creates a gravitational vacuum so strong that it absorbs everything into itself without fail, even electromagnetic radiant and light particles."

Zoro blinked slowly, a smile spreading across his face. "So, what you're saying…is that it's a mystery hole."

If Volta's neck had been any weaker, it would have snapped under the weight of his sweatdrops. "…no. Not at all. AND WHERE DID YOU GET THAT CUP OF TEA?!"

The swordsman took a long sip. "I found it under the table."

Volta looked down. Another steaming cup stood right between his feet. With no small amount of hesitation, he picked it up. It felt warm to the touch and smelled strongly of leaves. He sipped it.

Hot, bitter, and very strong. Tears sprung in his eyes, and he gulped it down in a hurry. Then he sipped it again. "This is the best bloody tea I've ever had."

"I have to agree," Zoro sighed. "Reminds me of what sensei used to make, after a day's worth of sweat and tears in the training yard."

Volta placed it on the table, but before it touched the surface a coaster appeared, round and white, a little flower engraved on it.

Zoro shook his head. "This hat gets stranger every time we enter it. By the way, did you figure out if this is a Devil Fruit or not?"

The pale hunter nodded. "I believe so. Precious few other fruits were named, but one was an almost perfect fit; the Room-Room Fruit. The eater gains the power to create a living room-like space within themselves that other people can enter. It's supposedly an inferior power compared to the Castle-Castle Fruit, but there was no description on that one."

"I bet it turns you into a castle," Zoro theorized. "Gives you more rooms and shit. Maybe even catapults that pop out of your arms and fling rocks at people."

"Ffffpahahaha, that's not a bad idea!" Volta couldn't help but snicker, as he searched his notes for his final illustration. He showed it to Zoro. "But _this _Fruit…_bloody hell_, I laughed so hard when I read it…the Chair-Chair Fruit."

Zoro's jaw dropped. "Does that do what I think it does?"

"YES! IT TURNS YOU INTO A BLOODY CHAIR! FFFFFPAHAHAHAHA!" Volta fell out of his seat, and Zoro wasn't far behind him. "Can you believe it!? A chair of all things! Ffffpahahahahaha!"

"What are ya gonna do," Zoro guffawed. "Let the enemy sit on you!? Hahahaha!"

The swordsman laughed so hard he dropped his tea. The cup shattered, splattering the sofa. That cut their laughter short…until the drink fixed itself, which only made them laugh harder.

They were still laughing as two men passed by. The dust storm raged on, so neither of them saw the hat or heard the sounds. They were too busy trying to get through the storm, dust ripping at one's coat and tussling the other's hair.

Soon they passed out of sight, toward the rocky slopes ahead.

The laughter subsided, and Volta took a long drink of his tea, his tongue getting used to the heat. "There are different categories of Devil Fruits, and subtypes in those categories, but none of them were named."

"It's like they expect you to know all this stuff beforehand," Zoro huffed.

Volta finished his cup. "From my own understanding, one is a miscellaneous category, where all random powers go. The second is for fruits that turn you into animals, and the last is elemental based."

He flipped through his notes once more, turning to the final page. "The last thing I learned was most important. Apparently, Devil Fruit eaters lose all mobility when submerged, becoming completely paralyzed."

Zoro snapped his fingers. "I remember hearing about that! Supposedly, the sea rejects them, so that if they fall in, they will be unable to swim." The swordsman frowned, narrowing his eyes in thought. "Now that I think about it…Volta, you said that you gained your tattoos for accomplishments on the battlefield. But when we fought Albedya, he seemed to think you had a Devil Fruit ability as well."

Volta thought back to that hellish day. Had he said something like that?

"_OH? YOU HAVE A DEVIL FRUIT AS WELL?"_

"That's right! It makes sense why he would think that, since he doesn't know of my people's ways."

Zoro grinned. "From a certain perspective, it's almost like you do have powers, just without the weaknesses. Being able to swim is a huge advantage over other people with abilities. Not that you need abilities to beat them in the first place." He patted his swords affectionately.

"We didn't exactly have a good showing last time though," Volta reminded. "Albedya leveraged his beer powers pretty well, between his hydrokinesis and that bottle form. Devil Fruit abilities probably need to be honed before they can become weapons, and I bet it's the same for my ink as well."

"Why didn't you know you could control them beforehand," Zoro questioned. "How long have you had them?"

"Only very recently," Volta said, another half-truth. "Nobody told me they could move."

The swordsman thought some more. "What about your teeth and spit?"

"They were normal when I left." A complete truth.

"Then there's only one possibility," Zoro intoned. "For your tattoos to become animated _and _your mouth to become electric…you must have been struck by lightning while you had a ruby in your mouth!"

Volta paled.

"Actually no, that's really stupid. There's no way that could ever happen." Zoro drunk the last of his tea.

"It's a thought," Volta said weakly. "But it doesn't really matter now. I know for a fact that this isn't a Devil Fruit."

"There's probably an Ink-Ink Fruit out there," Zoro considered. "Maybe you've got some sort of long-lost twin out there."

Volta chuckled. "Now you're just making stuff up."

"Whether in the sword or speculation," Zoro stated wisely. "I forge my own path. Speaking of swords, all this insanity hasn't given me much time to train! Nor has it given _you _much time to train." His smile grew malicious, provoking the formation of a few more sweatdrops on Volta's head.

.~===)==============={%}

The next morning saw the storm end. The valley, beige and red against a deep blue sky, seemed to disappear into the horizon, swallowed by the mountains that sprung up like jagged towers, trying to touch the clouds.

Volta couldn't appreciate the stark beauty, however. He was too busy trying not to fall over from exhaustion.

"Faster!" Zoro roared. "Run like the wind!"

Star Wars came to mind, as Volta picked up the pace against the wishes of his screaming muscles. Particularly, Yoda's training, riding on Luke's back as he dashed through the jungle.

However, he didn't think Yoda was quite as heavy as the swordsman on his shoulders right now.

"Faster! I want my hair blowing back!"

"Your…hair…is…too…short…"

"No backtalk!" Zoro thumped him on the head, his legs crossed over Volta's chest and his other hand keeping the witch hat steady. It looked terrible on him. "A swordsman must be sound in body and mind! Don't ignore your pain, but don't let it consume you! Use it to push you forward!"

His lungs and heart felt ready to burst, the bloody pumping so fast he feared he'd spring a leak. Legs to jello, shoulders to mush, back to oblivion. But he didn't slow down. Volta smiled…compared to what he had endured in Austria, this was nothing!

And then he tripped.

Zoro flew like a bird, his eyes jutting out in surprise. Then he rolled in midair and stuck the landing. "Phew, that was a close one. You alright Volta?"

Volta couldn't respond, his face in a crater of its own making.

"Get up Volta! We still have miles to go before we reach Kajiya!"

"I shink I'll be shtaying righb here," Volta mumbled. "I can't sheel my legshs."

"Don't worry, not feeling things is good," Zoro said. "It means they've gone beyond what your sense can handle. So now we need to train your senses. He warped into the hat and returned with his bandana. "Now, run blindfolded! Use only your ears and feet to know your surroundings."

And so, Volta ran across the rocky valley, blind and carrying a swordsman on his back. The sight wouldn't have been so ludicrous had it not been for Zoro wearing the witch hat, holding a sword out in front of him and screaming "Charge!" at the top of his lungs.

Coincidentally, a man by the name of Dick was nearby, heading in the opposite direction. He and his men watched the two go by in shocked silence.

"…well," he finally chuckled. "Ya don't see *that* every day."

"Boss, I think they're heading toward Dirt," one of his men suggested. "For the runner ta be blindfolded like that, he must know these parts well. Let's follow them!"

"Gargargar, not a bad idea," Dick laughed. "I had a feeling we were going the wrong way! Turn round y'all, after those weirdos!"

Zoro gave warnings from time to time. A large rock there, a bush over there, a hole in the ground. Volta heard them and made the necessary leaps and turns, the wind whipping his face and chilling his legs. He had endured this kind of darkness before, and he knew how to handle it.

The breeze could tell him much. If he didn't feel it on a part of him for too long, something big was in the way, and he zipped around it. The ground grew more rugged on occasion, forcing him to slow his pace and tread lightly. Zoro did not complain.

Had been thirty minutes, or three hours? Volta could no longer tell. His perception of time had drained out of him, along with his internal grumblings about the pain. The pain did not relent, did not abate. He felt himself grow tighter, his abs and legs cramping ever so slowly. He would have collapsed if he had been back on earth, he realized, so long had he been running. His endurance, like his speed, had increased tremendously, but it wasn't infinite.

Zoro could sense his waning energy. "Alright, slow down. Time for a breather." He jumped from his shoulders and plopped the hat back on Volta's head.

The pale hunter weaved and wheezed but did not fall. Taking off the bandana, his shaking legs carried him to a nearby bolder, which he sat upon roughly. "I…need…some…."

"Water." Zoro held out a canteen. "Got them with the clothes. Drink slowly, your stomach can't handle much right now."

Volta knew this already, as well as many other nuances to intensive training, but it was still a struggle not to down the canister. "Bloody hell…so…bloody…tired…"

"Don't rest too much," Zoro suggested. "Walk around for a bit when you've got some strength back, to cool you off. The swordsman opened up another canteen and dumped it on his head. "Good work today."

"I…fail to see…how this…helps me…"

"Become a better swordsman?" Zoro shrugged. "We're just hitting the basics right now. As you are, I wouldn't trust you to wield a stick properly."

"I did alright…against the Chicantazor."

"You just waved it around," Zoro countered. "Got a good slash in, but had it been a trained opponent you would be dead. If you truly wish to learn the sword, you need to throw out most of what you already know about fighting."

Volta nodded, too tired to argue. In the distance, Dick watched from behind a stony hill.

"How close are we?" Volta asked, though with Zoro leading the way, he feared the answer.

"Pretty close." Zoro pointed toward two smaller mountains, between which a river ran. Volta wasn't sure if it was the same one as before, as that one had wound far to the right shortly after they left Rivertown.

Standing up with no small effort, Volta took a longer sip and handed the canteen back to his partner. "Alright, let's go."

The two walked on, toward the town of Dirt.

.~===)==============={%}

When I was a kid, my dad always encouraged me to be what I wanted to be. A fairly cliché thing to say, but it's the truth, nonetheless. That's not to say my mom didn't love me too, because she did. But she always saw me as the repairman's apprentice, destined to be the repairman himself one day, providing for my five kids and wife, as well as her and pops in their old age.

I'm not sure why she thought that, when my poor old dad struggled to support the two of us alone. Hard to be the friendly neighborhood repairman when a dozen others were ready to fill that role, all of them younger and stronger, with better tools and lower rates. Which of course meant crappy jobs, that they could come back to later and redo for another low payment, only for it to break again, requiring _another_ payment, FUCKINGBLOODSUCKINGBASTARDSNOTRAININGNOCOMMITMENTNOREALEFFORTTHEIROWNFUCKINGDADSBOUGHTTHEMTHEIRTOOLSFUCKTHEMFUCKTHEMFUCKTHEM and well…I'm sure you get the picture.

My dad didn't do crap like that. He was thorough, responsible, unwilling to do things halfway. I remember one time, when we were putting up shiplap together, and realized only when the job was done that the boards were up backwards. We laughed at our negligence, and I suggested we paint the cracks, so it wouldn't look noticeable. My dad got serious real quick, and said to me:

"Son, if it ain't done right, it ain't done. Shortcuts only cut ya short."

I love that phrase. It's got a zing to it, some real stellar alliteration. My dad loved alliteration. And it's true all the way through. Nothing in life can be gained by half-assing things.

That's why I couldn't shake the feeling I was doing just that today. My latest project felt…incomplete. Negligent. Like the upside-down shiplap, it couldn't just be painted over. Would I have to start over?

"Fuck, I think I do. Damn, where am I gonna find another gang?"

I had just pulled out the last nail when the priest showed up. I hadn't even heard him enter the dining room, but there he was, staring down at me. Like a vulture sizing up a corpse.

Black robes with red trimming. Black shoulder pads with red stripes. A high white collar, and a silver necklace, its pendant shaped like the Eternal Face. I felt bile threaten to rise; a man of the Order. A minister of madness.

He had dark skin and gray eyes, and hair white and tall. And when I say tall, I mean _tall_. Three feet of it, almost brushing the ceiling.

"That style…you from the Fruit Kingdom?" My voice sounded calmer than I felt; how had he found me? _No one_ finds me, unless I want them to. Had I attracted the attention of the Order here? Shit, that could be bad. Very bad.

"Indeed," the priest intoned; his voice smooth but strong, as if speaking of something reverent. "I am Father Peachy. Do not be afraid; I am not here to harm you."

"I'm not afraid," I sneered, but my heart hammered away in my chest, louder and faster. I felt a drop of sweat slide down my cheek.

"There is a man I represent," Peachy continued. "He is interested in you. Interested in your…art."

"Neehahahaha! Art?! Ya think this shit is art?!"

Peachy raised an eyebrow. "If not art, what do you consider your work?"

I took a few small breaths, trying to steady myself. I won't be intimidated. _I won't be intimidated. _"They're construction projects. I like to build things. Things that have meaning."

The priest turned his head slowly, survey the corpses that surrounded us. He smirked. "You have an interesting notion of construction, Mr. Dareda."

"Just call me Dareda, please." I cleaned off my final nail, tossing it into the box. "I suppose making things with meaning is art, but I come from a line of builders, so that's my terminology. But if we use yours…well, this was gonna be my manum opus. That's the right word for the most important one, right?"

"_Magnum _opus," Peach corrected. "And yes."

So condescending, so arrogant, F̴͞ƯC̷K̡̡ H̶͜I̛͟M̡̀ A̵͘͝N͟͡D̴͞ F̶͡UC͢K̴͏̵ Ḩ̢I͠S͠ O̷R͢͏́D͏̨É̀͢R A̢͟N͟D̢ F̸̢̕U̸͟C̨͠K̢͠ Y̶Ǫ́U̷̡̨R̛͠ F̀͘Ú͟C̸͟͡KI͟҉̢ŃG̡̀ F͢AC҉́È AND͏͞ Y̴̶O̴͟U͢R̸ F̢̛U̧CK͘Į͟N̛G͜ H̕̕AÌ̷͜R͜҉ ĮL̀͡͞L̶͜ MU͏͞҉ŔD̸͞E͘R Y̢O͢U̵ M҉̷ƯR͏D͢E̷R Y̷͏͞O͢U̧ M̸U̢̨͡R̢D̢́͠E͝R̡ Y̸͘O̕U͟͝ but I couldn't let it get to me. I needed to remain calm.

"This was gonna be it," I continued. I gestured to the holes in their hands, their eyes, their feet, their ears. "Hitmen, spies, scouts, eavesdroppers. And of course, the boss." I pointed behind me, toward the mobster's lifeless form. I spared a glance and couldn't help but smile at the anguish twisting his features. The great cavity in his chest still oozed, his heart on the table he leaned against. Damn did it look good.

"It looks like it took a lot of work to do all this." I turned back around, toward the now sitting priest. He didn't look disgusted or afraid. His face…was the bastard _admiring_ my work? Could it be that someone else finally understood?

"It did. I had to find them, then wait for them all to be in one place. "Then I had to hammer the nails in and arrange the bodies."

Peachy nodded. Was it genuine interest? I couldn't tell. "So, why was it not complete?"

"Because the message can't be conveyed well." I couldn't believe I was explaining so much of myself to him, but the words wouldn't stop flowing, the excitement wouldn't stop building. "It's too complicated. I thought if I made my projects bigger, I could make them better, but there's too much going on. A spiked stomach symbolizes gluttony, a spiked eye envy. But nails in many people, in many places…I realize now that it's a message too complex to be captured with my methods."  
The priest stroked his chin. "I think I understand what you are trying to convey."

Oh, did he now? Arrogant son of a bitch. I felt a smile grow as I took out my biggest nail. An iron stake, really. "If you're wrong, I get to throw this at you. Fair?"

Peachy smiled. "Indubitably. This is a message about a body made of bodies. A body is only as good as its parts. You destroyed all the parts, and the heart, proving the weakness of the body. And the body is a body of mobsters. This is an art…a _project _about the futility of organized crime in a world where one man can slay dozens."

Ya know how sometimes there are moments in your life where time seems to stop? This was one of them. I felt numb, all the way down to the tips of my fingers. The stake slipped out my hand. Tears sprung to my eyes, and blinking them away only made them flow faster.

"Finally," I whispered, my voice trembling. "Someone who understands."

"Dear child," Peachy soothed. "It is my nature to understand others. I'm so sorry that you've gone unappreciated. Worse, you've gone despised. Hated by those that do not see the beauty of your gifts."

It was sappy as hell, and probably just a means to manipulate me. But his words touched me all the same, and he had understood. It was like being pulled to the surface, after years of drowning. I couldn't stop crying. Why couldn't I stop crying?

"There is another man who appreciates what you do," Peachy continued. "A man I represent. Though, I have already told you this."

"Yeah, no need to repeat yourself." This could still be a trap; I wasn't blind to that. But damn it all, if he understood the truth in my work, how could I not take the chance? It felt like my heart could explode any minute, and for all the best reasons in the world.

"Follow me," Peachy commanded. "Your destiny awaits."

I swallowed, finally wiping away the last of my tears. I couldn't throw caution to the wind, not entirely. I needed to ask questions. "Where are we going?"

Peachy smiled. "The Goa Kingdom. There is much work my master wishes you to do."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Sorry for the wait. I've been busy with a novel, projects for my parents's business, and edits to previous chapters, as well as improving their chapter images. The next one will not take as long, I promise.**

**Yeomanaxel, the Verified Yeo.**


	9. Cozia Arc Part 2

**Chapter 9 – Johnny and Yosaku**

Volta didn't feel that Dirt deserved its name. The old frontier town wasn't really that filthy, at least compared to Rivertown, and it had a lot going for it. The river itself ran right beside it, and dozens of trees and bushes dotted the landscape around the buildings, far more then there had been in the desert-like valley they had just crossed.

"I wonder if this is a mining town," he said to Zoro. "This land won't grow anything."

"I believe there's a few shafts in the mountain over there." Zoro pointed it out, looming large in the distance, surrounded by what looked like hills of stone. No, Volta realized, more like _waves_ of stone, in an ocean of land. One of those waves rose above the town proper, its flattened top encircled by a ring of fence. Within sat two large brick buildings, their roofs a bright green, an old shack right beside them.

"What's in those?"

Zoro squinted. "Storehouses, I believe. For the wintertime. I hear this place gets bad winters. Kajiya's house lies beyond it, on another outcropping."

.~===)==============={%}

Several kids were playing within the trees on the edge of town, as another dust storm swept in. It was a small one, and the children knew what to do, tucking their mouths and noses into their shirts and covering their eyes with their hands.

It only lasted a minute, and when it ended, the kids opened their eyes. Where there had been an empty road, two men walked forward. One had green hair and three swords at his side, the other had pale skin and black tattoos, and a funny hat on his head.

But they both had the same ragged clothing, and the same dangerous look in their eyes. The kids hid behind a tree, terrified…except for one.

"So cool," young Harry whispered, his own eyes filled with stars.

.~===)==============={%}

Further away from the town, but well within sight of it, the Infamous Mountain Whale observed his target, his sixteen loyal minions flanking him.

"Gargargargargar! They led us straight to Dirt!" Dick grinned maliciously. "I can just make out their storehouses! Come on men, let's circle around the town and take to the cliffs! By the time they realize what's going on, nothing will be able to stop us! Get the cart ready!"

"Hey Dick, I think yer brother Billy said he'd be in town around this time," one of his men reminded. "We should meet up with him."

Dick frowned. "Ya know I love me little bro, but the punk skipped out on us during our last rob! I gotta stick it to him, or he ain't gonna learn."

"So we leave him alone?"

"Gargargar! Billy's a strong punk, and his guys have bounties too! Who has the guts ta mess with three bounties? He ain't got nothing ta worry about in this town!"

.~===)==============={%}

If Rivertown borrowed from the Wild West tradition, Dirt embodied it. Horse-drawn carts, spurred boots, aproned storekeepers dusting their front steps. A big old clocktower in the town center, but no fountain. Not enough access to water, most likely.

They attracted little attention as they made their way through the town, though Volta got more than a few double-takes as he strode down the dusty road. A duo of bloodied cowboys sailed out a saloon door, laughter erupting from inside. The hunters helped them to their feet, only for them to go rushing back in, fists clenched and teeth barred. Volta turned around just in time to see them get thrown out again.

"Pride's a big thing out here," he commented.

"Pride's a big thing no matter where you go," Zoro replied. "Without pride in oneself, one has no honor."

"Depends on the pride," Volta countered. "Pride in one's abilities is fine, but pride in yourself can lead to arrogance. Which leads to defeat."

Zoro nodded. "True. I suppose you wouldn't consider pride a value in your former line of work."

Volta shrugged. "It depends. I didn't take pride in my kills; no assassin that does lives long, for precisely the reason I just explained. But I took pride in my stealth."

"But since your stealth was in service to killing," Zoro said. "Wouldn't you have no pride in that either?"

"Connected things, but different things. Technically, this job is connected to killing too."

Zoro nodded, a frown twisting his features. "Yeah…"

"You alright?"

The swordsman paused, then nodded. Then paused again. "Well…yes and no. I'd never taken a life before the Bowi Family debacle, and it felt…odd."

"What do you mean?"

"Well…" Zoro rubbed his temple, trying to find the right words. "I cut off a guy's hand, and then I slashed up a few more, and then I realized that I'd killed them after the fact. That never really happened before. Sometimes I've had trouble controlling my strength…that's why we're going to Kajiya in the first place…but not with people."

He sat down on a rock and put his head in his hands. "Have I grown so strong that I can't control my swords anymore? Have I lost the ability to keep myself in check? I feel like there's something wrong with these hands, these arms. Like I can't steer them the way they're meant to be steered."

Volta frowned. "I think you're overthinking it. Strength can be controlled; in fact, aren't you controlling it right now, by not crushing your head with your hands?"

He sat down beside him and put a hand on his shoulder. "Zoro, when you kill someone, it rattles you. Some get so rattled they go to pieces, and others only get rattled enough to know what they've done. And of those, some kill again, and grow less rattled, while others never do so because they know they'll be rattled more. Violence is like everything else in this world; different for different people."

Zoro nodded. "I guess I'm more rattled then I thought I've be. I always knew I'd have to kill someday, but when that day came…it was only then that I realized how much I didn't want it to happen."

Volta nodded. "You don't strike me as the kind of man that really tries to kill every time he fights, because that's not your goal, right? You only mean to win."

The swordsman shrugged. "I only use what I need to overcome my opponents. If they die from my strikes, they die…except now a few really _are _dead. I guess, it's that reality I'm trying to come to grips with."

"I understand." And he truly did; he remembered, distinctly, his own first kill. Perhaps, someday, if he worked up enough courage, he'd tell Zoro about it. "But daylight's wasting, and I'd like to see if this Kajiya guy can tell me a thing or two about my sword."

Zoro sighed, getting up from the rock and stretching his back. "Always on to the next thing…not one to stand still, are you?"

"Not at all," Volta smirked. "I'm a man of movement. Why do you think we've had so many adventures since you met me!"

Zoro grinned. "Things were certainly more boring when you weren't around. Come on, let's go."

.~===)==============={%}

They found Kajiya far to the west of Dirt, his house upon another wave of rock. A large staircase had been hewn out of the side, miniscule compared to the Tamago Kingdom's but still a chore to climb.

His house, save for its slanted roof and big chimney, gave Volta an eerie sense of nostalgia. It reminded him of the blacksmith's house from Minecraft, a game so lost in the past he could only scarcely remember its blocky, endless world. But the wooden beams, great stone furnace, and scattered chests and tables recalled the classic design to him.

The front porch took up a good portion of what lay under the roof, a workshop without walls to let the great heat of the furnace out. Barrels full of swords lined the edges of the space, cutlasses and katanas and rapiers, even a few spears and axes. A warhammer rested against the side of the house proper, one side badly dented and crusted with something brown.

Kajiya himself was hammering a broadsword into shape as they arrived. He heard their approach and turned with a smile. "Zoro! I know the sound of that stride like the back of my hand now!"

"I suppose carrying three swords would make for a distinctive stride," the swordsman grinned. "I come bearing bad news."

Kajiya groaned, setting his hammer aside and standing. A short man with large lips and bigger eyes, his face drenched in sweat and teeth clenched in a grimace. He wore a blue yukata with gray pants, head covered by a kanji-laden bandana. "Don't tell me you've gone through _another_ two."

"Oi, what's with the lack of confidence?! I'll have you know that they're still intact!" Zoro unsheathed his black-handled blades, handing them off to the blacksmith. He held them carefully, eyes running over their lengths like a renowned jewel inspector. He scoffed and tossed them into a tray of sand near his barrels. The swords shattered upon impact, stunning the hunters.

"No amount of skill would have fixed those!" Kajiya admonished. "I'm surprised they didn't snap when you pulled them out of their scabbards!"

Zoro stared at his ruined weapons solemnly, his face twisted with frustration. For a moment, Volta feared he would cry. He didn't, instead pulling out his three scabbards, discarding the black ones and handing over the white. Kajiya unsheathed Wado and examined it, eyes staring harder than before. He nodded. "Not bad. But not good either. It doesn't get as much use because it's the one in your mouth, not to mention it's of Great Grade, but you're too reckless! If it had been a normal blade, it would have been in poor condition for sure!"

Volta had never seen anyone dress down the swordsman so brazenly, and to his shock Zoro didn't fight back.

His shock only grew as he bowed before the irate blacksmith. "I'm sorry for my recklessness. I promise it won't happen again."

"That's what you said last time," Kajiya grumbled. "But I guess I can't complain, what with all the money you've brought in. Geez, who would have thought settling so far from town would be a bad idea for business…"

He hung Wado on the wall. "Come back in three hours, and she'll be right as rain again. And for the love of…uh…oh, I didn't see you there."

"HOW COULD YOU MISS THE HAT?!"

"Name's Damian Volta," Zoro introduced for him. "He's my apprentice."

"Apprentice?!" Kajiya squawked. "Are ya shitting me?! What are ya teaching him, how to break swords faster?"

Zoro turned red. "Er…we're doing strength training right now."

"Language," Volta mumbled.

"Shingshingshingshingshing! You youngsters are nuts!" the blacksmith laughed. "Zoro, ya better learn ta not break your blades if you wanna take on this guy! Speaking of which, does he have a blade in need of repair as well?"

Zoro nodded. "Volta?"

He pulled the pin out and vanished, and Kajiya's jaw cracked the floor. He returned with his rapier, and his jaw proceeded to smash right _through it._ "BLITZEINSCHLAG!?"

Now it was Volta's jaw's turn to break the floor. "GERMAN?!"

Zoro sipped a cup of tea. "More mysteries."

Kajiya threw his hammer at him. "STOP DRINKING MY TEA!"

.~===)==============={%}

They were all drinking tea a minute later, sitting cross-legged upon mats on the porch.

"The Meito System," Kajiya began. "One of many world-changing things to emerge from the land of Wano. It was there that swordsmanship reached its zenith, becoming not just a form of battle, but a form of art. One that birthed many of the greatest blades known to man."

He pointed at Zoro's white scabbard; blade tucked neatly within. "Wado Ichimonji, Ō Wazamono. Translated from Wano's language, it means Straight Road of the Harmony, of the Great Grade. A magnificent blade."

Zoro nodded. "My master never told me how he obtained it. But he taught me several sword techniques he claimed originated from Wano."

The blacksmith stroked his scruff. "I see. Koshiro was his name, yes?"

He nodded again.

"Interesting…regardless, how much do you know about the Meito System?"

"I know the grades and their numbers," Zoro answered. "But the names slip away from me…all but one. The blade of the man I've sworn to defeat."

"Yoru, Saijō Ō Wazamono," Kajiya intoned. "Night, of the Supreme Grade. Which brings me to my second point regarding the Meito System."

Volta listened intently, notebook out and pen at the ready.

"The people of Wano created the first set of Meito blades," Kajiya explained. "Several for each of the four grades, Supreme, Great, Skillful, and Fine. Seventy in all! But over time, other countries began to follow Wano's lead and create stunning blades of their own, which were added to the Meito System. Now there are twelve Supreme, twenty-one Great, fifty Skillful, and a hundred and eight Fine."

"Making a hundred and ninety-one," Volta concluded. "I already knew that my blade was of the Great Grade, but I didn't know its name. Could you say it again?"

"Blitzeinschlag," Kajiya intoned. "Of the Great Grade."

"Der großen Klasse," Volta muttered. "And Blitzeinschlag is…" He paled, the translation turning his veins to ice.

"What's wrong?" Zoro asked, looking concerned.

"Lightning strike…" Volta whispered. "Bloody hell, it's all connected. Every last bloody thing adds up…"

Kajiya scratched his head. "Zoro, is he alright?"

Zoro smirked. "Nope."

"I'm still here," Volta mumbled, but he barely heard himself speak. The sheer insanity of what had happened to him came crashing down all over again, his very understanding of the universe dying and rebirthing as he tried to comprehend the connections between everything he had gained.

He had entered this world through a lightning strike.

Now he had a sword _called _lightning strike.

Ravens on his back and on his belt. What did they mean?

"Oi, Volta! You're starting to freak me out."

The pale hunter blinked, returning to reality. "Sorry, I was lost in thought."

"That's only to be expected," Kajiya continued. "For this blade to fall into your hands is a miraculous occurrence, one that requires much contemplation."

"What country was it made in?" Volta asked.

The blacksmith pursed his lips, scrunching up his face in thought. "I…cannot remember. Certainly, somewhere in the West Blue; they favor rapier there."

Volta considered this information carefully. He tried not to get his hopes up, but in his mind, there was only one possibility. Austria lived on, buried under the fantasy that enveloped this world. If he found this country, somewhere in the West, would he even recognize it? How deep did the inspirations run, or were they mere bones for Ogo to construct his setting around? Wait, was the author's name Ogo? Damn, he had forgotten again.

"Stranger and stranger and stranger," Volta murmured. "Always stranger. Sometimes I wonder if it's too strange. If I've hit my head and am in a dream, imagining all of this."

Zoro cleared his throat. "Volta, we'll probably be staying here while Kajiya works. Think you can find a bar? I want to talk with Kajiya some more."

Volta nodded, the task easing his troubled mind. Something to do would help him think. "Sure. We should probably pay him first."

"Shingshingshing, no need for that," he chuckled. "This job would usually cost yer arms and legs, but a chance to work on _two _Great Grade swords at once? I should be paying _you_."

The swordsman gaped, disbelieving. "Seriously?!"

"But only this once!" Kajiya immediately added. "I make enough to do a few pro bonos here and there, but you better be prepared to _bleed _the next time you come in with busted swords, Zoro! You're a remarkable fighter, but you must learn to control your strength!"

The swordsman blushed, thoroughly chastised. "I understand. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart."

Kajiya turned to Volta, looking him over from head to toe. "Your posture and muscles are all wrong for a swordsman; you look like a martial artist, so you should be fine without your blade for a while. But as for you, Zoro…"

He reached over and pulled a katana from a nearby barrel, a simple weapon with a simple wooden sheath. It didn't even have a guard. "Use this. You'll probably wreck the damn thing, but it's an old blade, not good for much anymore."

Zoro bowed in gratitude, taking the sword and setting it at his side. "I'm grateful. We both are."

"Enough with the thanks!" Kajiya cried. "You'll drown me in them!"

Volta stood up, bowed once more, and left with the hat, and the money within. A cheap bar; shouldn't be hard, in a place like this.

Zoro watched him disappear down the stone steps, toward the town beyond. He sighed wearily.

"He troubles you, doesn't he?" Kajiya's good cheer dissipated, leaving only somberness. "The way you look at him…you fear for him, don't you?"

Zoro nodded. "Yeah. More than I care to admit."

The old blacksmith took a long sip of tea. "I've never seen markings like those before. Nor such a dismal sense of fashion. But the look in his eyes…I am all too familiar with it."

"He came from a country called Austria," Zoro explained. "There was a war there, that lasted ten years; he was a part of it."

Kajiya gasped. "At such a young age? Heaven above…"

"I doubt he was in it from the beginning, or he would have been eight," Zoro reasoned. "But his adolescence…I can't even imagine what he must have seen. What he must have done. He escaped when he realized it would never end, but his past haunts him. It…might have even broken him."

Zoro blinked rapidly, the sudden up-welling of grief taking him by surprise. Kajiya took notice. "How long have you known him?"

"I met him on the fifth," he replied. "We've been together since then."

"Not even two weeks," Kajiya said. "And yet, you feel so strongly for him. Good on you; there's a kind heart in that warrior's body of yours. Don't lose that, no matter how much you fight and bleed."

Zoro winced. "Kajiya…since last we met, I've taken a life, for the first time. Three, actually, maybe more."

If these words shook the blacksmith any, he did not show it. He took another sip of tea. "How did they die?"

"They tried to rob Volta and I, as well as others. They were drugging people, but we faked taking the drink, and caught them by surprise. I…" Zoro paused, the memories flashing so brightly that he could see them with his eyes open. "I sliced off one of their hands and cut down two others. And I continued to cut down these bandits, until Volta killed their leader and the Marines swept them away."

Kajiya sighed. "I figured that this had happened. I could tell from the look in _your _eyes. They don't shine as brightly anymore."

Zoro gulped. "What…what do you mean?"

The blacksmith leaned in; his own eyes sharper than the blade on his wall. "Listen closely, Zoro. The path you have chosen to walk will dull every eye that looks upon it. Can the dulling be reversed? No. Can it be renewed? Perhaps. How can it be renewed? That is up to you to find out. But do not think yourself a monster, for that is far from what you are. You will only become one when you purposefully seek out the death of others. So, ask yourself this, Zoro; did you seek out the deaths of those men?"

The swordsman did not hesitate. "No."

"Did they deserve death?"

"…they butchered innocents."

Kajiya leaned even closer. "Do _you _think that they deserved death?"

Zoro bristled. "What the hell are you trying to say? That I was right to kill them?"

Kajiya finished his tea, and with startling speed thumped Zoro on the head with his cup. "You moss-headed fool! This isn't about what I feel, or what I think! I'm asking you because you and you alone must decide if you were wrong or not! This isn't about justification; it's about acceptance. You killed murderers, and you feel remorse. Now you must decide if you will continue on your path, even though it may mean you will have to kill again."

Zoro nodded, trying to digest the man's words. "I cannot abandon my path. And I do not seek out the deaths of anyone on that path, not even that of Mihawk. I merely wish to defeat him."

Kajiya nodded. "Some consider death and defeat to be the same. And some do not. I'm glad you are not the former. The world would be a better place without those that intend murder."

Zoro finished his tea. "Yeah…it probably would be."

.~===)==============={%}

A good saloon wasn't hard to find, and the one Volta chanced upon looked promising. W Brothers was a small but well-kept joint, a smattering of tables before a wooden bar. A large barrel dominated the wall behind the counter, and a strange decoration flanked its right side. It looked like a glass bottle with horns growing out of it.

The place only had five customers at the moment, three men at a table and two more at the bar itself. One of the former was freakishly tall, his hunched, gray body wrapped in bandages and a large jacket. He had bicycle pads on his knees and shoulders, though Volta could only imagine how he'd get a bike through the valley, and a poorly stitched scar ran across his forehead. His gaunt face was bright red, and the dozen or so bottle before him explained why.

"We're gonna drink every bit of liquor in this joint!" he laughed, tongue flailing wildly outside his mouth.

"Oi, Billy," one of his equally shady companions said. "How many places you gonna ruin before you've had yer fill?"

"How should I know?" Billy crowed, spit spraying from his chapped lips. "We're loaded boys! Gyahahahaha!"

Volta was almost positive they were bandits, but he needed a wanted poster for confirmation. He spied the two men at the bar reading one, and walked around the table to get a better look.

**WANTED**

**DEAD OR ALIVE**

**BILLY "THE HACKER" **

฿ **5,000,000**

**If you encounter this individual, do not attempt to engage unless you are a marine, a World Government employee, or a registered bounty hunter or privateer. If capture is successful, turn into your nearest local Marine or WG facility. Rewards for dead bounties will be reduced; the specific amount varies per area.**

**MARINE**

"Ffffphahahaha!" Volta's laughter cut through Billy's own. He turned to stare at the pale, strangely dressed man.

"Hey, what's so funny?" he said. "Well, other than your hat! What you trying ta be, a pretty-pretty princess? Gyahahahaha!"

Volta boggled at him, then started laughing even harder. Which only made Billy laugh harder. Soon his two companions were laughing as well.

"I'm sorry," Volta giggled, wiping a tear from my eye. "I do look silly, don't I?"

"You bet!" Billy roared. "But I can dig it! I like you man! Want a drink on me?"

Volta shook his head, still chuckling. "No, I've got my own money. And I'm gonna have more when I turn you in."

"Gyahahahahaha, damn man, that's…wait what?"

With frightening speed, Volta grabbed the heads of the two companions and smashed them together. Stupefied, Billy instinctively reached for his sword, grasping its handle at the same time Volta's foot connected with his face. Half his teeth flew out in a spray of blood, and he sailed right through the window behind him, taking out some of the wall around it with his bulk.

"Ah!" the bartender cried. "My wall!"

Volta smiled sheepishly. "Sorry about that. I'll give you the bounty money so you can-"

The crunching of wood was his only warning. Volta reached up and took out the pin, disappearing into his hat just before Billy's sword bisected him. The hat fell to the ground, rolling onto its side. Billy leaned down, even more confused then before. "The fuck?"

"Language."

Volta's fist shot out of the hat like a rocket, right into Billy's wrapped stomach. He doubled over with a groan, making him the perfect target for a jaw-shattering uppercut. The bloodied bandit's head smashed right through the ceiling, his limp body swinging like a pendulum. It looked like something out the Looney Tunes, Volta noted with amusement.

"Aaaah, my ceiling!"

Volta pulled down the unconscious bandit. "Sorry about all that sir. I promise I'll repay you."

"Not so fast!"

"Don't even think about going through those doors!"

The two new voices belonged to the men at the bar, who had jumped off their stools to glare at the pale hunter.

Now that Volta really looked at them, he saw their outfits were quite stylized. One wore a sleeveless longcoat similar to his own, but it was light blue instead of black, and had no spikes on its shoulders. Underneath he wore a dark pair of jeans and a red tanktop with kanji on it. He sported a buzz cut topped with a bloodred mohawk and a pair of thin sunglasses. Volta noted the flat-tipped sword within his right hand.

The other man looked almost military in his dress; from his boots to his jacket, his colors were perfect for camouflage, save for the red armbands he sported. But his long blonde hair, shaggy and unkempt, was anything but. His sword, identical to the other man's, lay within the grip of his left hand. Volta tensed ever so slightly; their nearly synchronized stance spoke of a long partnership.

"You a bounty hunter?" the mohawk man asked.

Volta nodded. "That's right. I saw the poster you were looking at, and…oh, I stole your target, didn't I?" He felt even more sheepish then before.

"That's right," the mohawk man confirmed. "We had first dibs on this guy. He was our prey!"

"But bro," the blonde man spoke up. "Didn't you say that if we fought him, even we'd lose by a hair?"

"It's the principle of the thing, Yosaku!" Mohawk man exclaimed. "And furthermore, look at all the damage you did to Willick's bar!"

"That's an excellent point," Yosaku agreed. "We didn't want to make any trouble for the pub, so we were waiting for him to leave. And now look at the place!"

Volta looked at the hole in the wall. Then at the one in the ceiling. Then, remembering Zoro's example, he bowed before the bartender. "I humbly beg for you forgiveness in damaging your property. I promise to pay it back with the money from this bounty."

The bartender opened his mouth. "Apologies won't fix up this place!" Mohawk man interrupted. "Even with the money, it'll be weeks before this guy's place is running like it used to! Have you no respect for the rules of bounty hunting?"

Volta frowned. "I wasn't under the impression that there were rules."

"They're _our _rules," Mohawk man stated. "If you're gonna be a bounty hunter in these parts, you have to abide by them."

Volta narrowed his eyes, barely suppressing a sigh of annoyance. "Alright, Mr…."

"Johnny," Mohawk man said. "Just call me Johnny."

"Alright, Johnny. What are your rules for engaging with bounties? I'd like to hear them."

Johnny held up three fingers. "First off, first come first serve! Second off, no damaging property, third…hm, well…the third one is more complex…"

"It sounds to me," Volta smirked. "That you have no rules at all and are just complaining about being too slow."

"Slow?!" the two hunters cried in unison.

"You're right about the bar," Volta admitted. "I was careless, and that got me in debt…again. But calling dibs on a criminal is about as sensible as writing your name on one. What if I had respected your silly rule, and this fellow here had gone outside and immediately killed the first person he saw?"

The hunters paled; the idea clearly hadn't even crossed their minds.

"Now, would that have actually happened? Unlikely. But it _could_ happen. If you force other hunters to back off and then do nothing yourselves because you're afraid to lose, then that's the same as telling the criminal to do what he wishes until you've worked up some courage. _If _you work up some courage."

"He's got a point," Willick spoke up.

Yosaku's eyes bulged, lips working but making no sound. On the other hand, Johnny frowned in thought, considering the merit of Volta's words. "You're right," he finally said. "Calling dibs is a lousy way to protect the people. I feel ashamed."

"There's no reason to," Volta said with a smile. "No harm was done. Just don't use that BS on other hunters. Instead, try being more proactive." And with that said, the otherworldly man left the bar, grimacing under the weight of the massive bandit.

"…proactive." Johnny repeated, scratching the side of his buzzcut.

"Johnny, look!" Yosaku cried. "He left us Billy's two minions!" He searched through the posters, until he found theirs in the very back. "They're only worth a hundred thousand each, but berries are berries. Let's turn them in!"

.~===)==============={%}

A passing sheriff was more than glad to take the two unconscious criminals off their hands. The first hunter had already deposited Billy and was nowhere to be found. "Turn in these tickets at the World Government facility in North Cozia," he drawled. "It's a walk, but you'll get yer money with no delay." He walked off toward the town jail, the defeated upon his shoulders.

"We did it!" Yosaku cried. "We finally got two bounties at once! And we didn't even need to put ourselves on the line, not even a hair! Isn't that lucky of us?"

"…sure." Johnny still looked thoughtful, something Yosaku wasn't used to.

"Hey, what's on your mind bro? Did that guy bum you out?"

Johnny didn't respond for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose with a grimace. "Yosaku…why did you become a bounty hunter?"

His partner blinked. "Why, to eat of course. It's a living."

Johnny nodded. "A fair reason. But for me…well, I'm sure I've said this already, but my village where I was born was really poor. Even so, the bandits in the area still attacked it often, as well as the other poor towns around it. And when they did, the only people that stood in their way were the bounty hunters that came for their heads."

He took of his glasses and rubbed his eyes, letting himself be carried away on the winds of memory.

* * *

_Fires everywhere. The robbery was complete, and now, with time to spare, the bandits began to burn. Smoke and screams filled the air, but louder still rang the bandits' laughter, cutting through the anguish like a sword through the innocent._

_And then, a real sword pierced the laughter, and turned it into cries. Flashing through the night, cutting just short of deadly, a figure blitzed the burners, shattering their swords and snuffing their torches. _

_Little Johnny's fear turned to awe, as he blurred across the grass, a shadow without sound. And in minutes they all lay on the ground, defeated, bloodied, broken. _

_An explosion rocked the town then. Little Johnny would later learn that the firework shop had gone up, and that none were hurt. But in that moment, all he saw was the light, as it shone around the hunter, illuminating him in all his glory._

_A man dressed in the primaries, blue tunic over red shirt, golden cap engraved with a strange symbol. His leather gloves and belt were worn but regal, his buckle gleaming in the light of the flames. In his right hand he carried a broadsword, longer then Johnny was tall, hilt gold, blade silver, marked with words he couldn't read. _

_But it was the man's face he remembered clearest. Rugged and handsome, the face of a warrior, one from the ancient stories from the first century. His eyes were like steel, the eyes of a bird of a predator, but when they landed on little Johnny, a kindness took form within them. He smiled softly, turned away and walked into the dimming light, never to be glimpsed again._

* * *

"Deep down in my heart, I wanted to be just like those dashing men," Johnny whispered. "The ones that challenged the bandits and fought for justice." He wiped a tear from his eye and returned his sunglasses to their rightful place. "I thought to myself that, someday, I would take down bandits myself, and be like those men that saved me when I was little, fighting for justice and the protection of the weak."

He sighed heavily, slumping back onto his stool. "It wasn't until much later that I learned they collected bounties as their profession. And that some hunters are too scared to confront the monsters that roam this sea."

Yosaku blew his nose. "That…what was beautiful. It's not like you to get so sentimental."

"That guy put a mirror before me," Johnny said. "And when I looked into it, I didn't like what I saw. Dammit all, when the hell did I lose sight of myself? When did I abandon my passion in favor of lethargy?"

He jumped up, eyes blazing. "Damn the rules I made, and damn my own cowardly hide! Next time we see a baddie, to hell with the bounty, let's go for it! Besides, I'm sure we can win against most of these guys anyway!"

"Even if it's by just a hair?" Yosaku asked tentatively.

"You bet!" Johnny cried. "But damn, I'm all fired up now! I feel ready for anything!"

_BOOM!_

The sound of a cannon resounded throughout the town. The two hunters whirled at the noise, just in time to witness a stream of people running past them. "Run, run!"

"Oi!" Yosaku cried out. "What's going on here?"

"The Dick Bandits are attacking!" one of the fleeing citizens explained. "They're here for our storehouses!"

"What!" the two hunters cried. Yosaku flipped through the posters, until he found a matching name.

**WANTED**

**DEAD OR ALIVE**

**DICK**

฿ **10,000,000**

**If you encounter this individual, do not attempt to engage unless you are a marine, a World Government employee, or a registered bounty hunter or privateer. If capture is successful, turn into your nearest local Marine or WG facility. Rewards for dead bounties will be reduced; the specific amount varies per area.**

**MARINE**

"He's a big-leaguer!" Yosaku cried. "He's worthy ten million berries!"

"Ten million!" Johnny gulped nervously, remembering one of the old sayings his grandmother had always said to him.

_Be careful what you wish for._

He gritted his teeth. "Come on Yosaku! A promise is a promise, let's take this guy down! Even if it's only by a hair!"

Yosaku unsheathed his sword. "That's right!" They ran toward the column of smoke, determined to bring down the Mountain Whale.

The citizen had spoken true. On the wave of rock where the storehouses stood, Dick had made his move. His first shot had blown away the two old guards of the storehouses, and how he aimed for them directly.

_BOOM!_

The door exploded into a shower of splinters, the entire structure trembling from the blast.

"Gargargar, snap it up men!" Dick laughed. His men rushed forth through the smoke, toward the slightly singed boxes and barrels within. They grabbed everything they could, backward toward their fearsome leader, piling it before his feet.

"What a good shot boss!" one of his lackeys crowed.

"Gargargar, as always," Dick agreed. "Look at this haul! They were hiding quite a bit, weren't they? Is the cart through the mountain pass yet?"

"Almost boss!"

_BOOM! _

Another shot tore open the entrance of the second doorway, and before the dust had settled the bandits rushed in, laughing as they partook in the spoils.

Dick sneered at the helpless onlookers behind the fence, watching with wide eyes. "What's with the people of this town?" he sneered. "They're such cowards; don't they have the guts to put up a decent fight?"

The Mountain Whale was no philosopher, but on occasion he liked to voice his crude ideology, if only to bolster his own ego. "I guess they're smart, in a certain sense," he rambled. "There are those who take and those who get taken from, and you're either one or the other in this day and age. Gar, I suppose being weak is a crime all by itself, defiance the tool of a fool in the face of strength! Gargargargarga-OW!"

A sudden pain flared up in his knee. Eyes bulging with rage, he looked down to see who had dared strike him. It was a little boy, a mallet in one hand and a saw in the other. He wore a painted breastplate over his normal clothing, and a flat-topped hat with a blue bow.

"So, there is a fool here…" Dick glowered.

"Gi-give back our food," the kid stammered. "We all worked hard to store that stuff up! You've got to right to-"

_SLAM!_

"Harry!" one of the onlookers cried, as the kid flew across the sparsely grassed rock.

"I guess," Dick laughed. "There will always be those that fly in the face of my entirely logical reasoning! You've got guts kid, but you ain't got the strength to beat me!"

"Damn you!" Harry bellowed, before charging after him again.

"Stop!" cried the onlooker, but to no avail; the young lad would not be deterred.

This time he went for the leg with the saw, but Dick kicked him in the gut, sending him sprawling backwards. Before he could stand, a large boot slammed into his armor, winding him.

"I'm not so monstrous as to kill a child," Dick chuckled. "But teaching one a lesson? I'll be sleeping like a baby tonight!" He stomped on the kid's chest, over and over, denting in the H on the armor's center. "One more ought to wrap this up!" he laughed. He raised his foot again.

With a cry of rage, Johnny barreled into him, knocking him back. Stunned, Dick nearly lost his balance, twisting around to get both his feet on the ground again. "The hell you think you're doing?" he sneered. "Who are you two?"

Johnny grinned, unsheathing his dadao. "Just a couple of bounty hunters, looking for our next meal. And this case, that's you!"

"Bounty hunters!" Dick growled. "You scum are always after my head! I've got no patience to fight a couple of scrawny mountain-cats like you today." He laughed disdainfully. "Though, if you want money, I'll gladly give you a thousand berries worth of charity."

"We don't want it!" Yosaku exclaimed.

"That's right!" Johnny grinned. "We just feel a little bit like being champions of justice today." He turned toward the kid, who was just getting to his feet. "Sorry we came so late bud. Get out of here, we'll handle this."

Harry nodded, and ran off toward the shed.

"Champions of justice!? GARGARGARGARGAR! Are ya stuck in the past!? There's no such thing as justice or evil in this day and age!" Dick smiled at his own insightful words. He was on a roll today! "The mighty prevail! That's the way of the world!"

Yosaku turned red. "How dare you question our resolve! Why…just today, we turned in a five million berry bounty!"

Dick's laughter died instantly, his face going white. "Five…million?" he breathed

Johnny was just as surprised by the lie as the bandits were, but his shock quickly turned to confidence. If the bandits were intimidated enough, they might surrender on the spot, or at least back off from their raid.

"That's right," he reaffirmed, giving Yosaku an grateful look. "We kicked his ass so hard that his two men fainted from the horror! He's on his way to the Navy right now! Do you want to end up the same way?"

Dick stared at them, incomprehension written all over his face. "You took down Billy?"

"That's right!" the hunters said in unison.

And with this final, false confirmation, the Mountain Whale _snapped. _"YOU BASTARDS TOOK DOWN MY SWORN BROTHER?!" he roared. "HOW DARE YOU! I'LL BLOW YOU INTO FUCKING BITS!"

Two jaws hit the ground. "WHAAAT?!"

_BOOM!_

.~===)==============={%}

Volta stopped in his tracks, looking behind him. What was happening back there? It sounded like cannon fire.

"Hm, probably testing out some new gun," he concluded, before resuming his ascent up the stone stairs. Soon he was back on Kajiya's plateau, the sound of a hammer ringing in the air. Zoro stood on the plateau's edge, holding his borrowed sword in both hands. With no hesitation, he swept the blade through a pile of rocks he had assembled, cleanly cutting five of them without a trace of dust in the air.

"Ah, Volta!" Kajiya came running out, Blitzeinschlag in his hands. "I've finished your sword! There was little wear; whoever had it last took good care of it."

Volta pulled in halfway from its scabbard, admiring the sharp gleam of its edge, and the fresh polish of its handle. Even the little pearl on the end had been cleaned. "It's beautiful work," he complimented. "At least, I think so. I don't know much about swords."

Kajiya smile. "You'll learn all you need to know in good time." He moved his hands down the scabbard, toward the thick block of gears and metal at its end. "In truth, while the sword itself was a joy to work on, the scabbard fascinated me the most. The previous owner modified it into a slug-firing shotgun without compromising the integrity of the shaft, by melded the chape to this large chamber."

He flipped it over, showing Volta the underside of the block. Kajiya pressed down on it, and part of the side popped up, revealing the magazine loading port within. "I'm not sure what kind of bullet it uses," he confessed. "Guns aren't my specialty."

"The work you did on the sword is why we came here," Volta replied. "Thank you so much for your service."

Another boom sounded in the distance, another puff of large smoke snaking into the sky. "What's going on over there?" Volta asked.

Kajiya spat onto the rock. "The Mountain Whale is back," he growled. "A bandit worth ten mil, leader of the largest pack in this part of Cozia."

Volta frowned. "Zoro, are you familiar with Dick?!" As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he realized his horrible error, but Zoro's face betrayed nothing. He took the corresponding poster from his haramaki and handed it over. Volta had seen the picture in passing, but he studied it carefully now.

Dick had a leering, blocky face, a nose long and hooked, and the most bizarre hairline the young hunter had ever seen, jagged lines running down his forehead and up his chin from his beard. His close-cropped hair swept into three squiggly points, something Volta reminded himself to poke fun at when he fought him later.

Part of a large cannon lay upon his shoulders, and not for the first time he wondered how such accurate pictures were taken of these fearsome fellows.

"Zoro, I still need more time with Wado," Kajiya warned. "You'll have to make do with that longsword."

The green-haired swordsman grinned. "That's not a problem at all. I'm trying to take your advice to heart this time; how does this look?"

Kajiya inspected the blade, and his eyebrows rocketed into his bandana. "For a sword that's been slicing rocks for an hour, it's not that bad. But you've got a ways to go."

Zoro nodded, and the two ran to the steps, swords in hand.

"Try to return that one whole!" Kajiya called after them.

Zoro smiled, tying the black bandana around his head. "Will do."

.~===)==============={%}

To the bemusement of everyone they've met, Johnny and Yosaku had a habit of declaring their future victories and defeats 'by a hair.' While a silly phrase, it served a valuable purpose; giving the duo the illusion of strength. Whether they lost or won, it would always be a battle hard fought, one where each side had to struggle to win.

This illusion took a bit of a beating that afternoon, along with the two men who sustained it. Time and time again, Dick mercilessly pummeled them, throwing kicks, slaps and punches like they were fastball specials. They had managed to dodge the cannon's deadly shots, but this time quite literally by a hair; Yosaku's blonde locks had been singed, Johnny's Mohawk halved in height.

The citizenry watched in dismay. "Dammit," one cried. "It's no use! He's too much of a match for them!"

Harry watched in silence, teeth gritted in anger.

"What the hell is _this_?" Dick scoffed. "Are you really the ones who took out my bro?"

"Well…not really," Yosaku admitted, blood dripping down his chin. "But we would have if we had fought! I'm sure of it!"

"Then why the hell were you bragging about it?!' Dick snarled. "You just made your situation worse for yourselves! My relation to Billy is common knowledge around these parts." He smiled maliciously. "I should have known when I landed my first punch; you two are weak. Too weak to beat down my bro."

"Shut up!" the hunters cried, reclaiming their dadao from the ground and charging once more.

But Dick had had enough. He threw his hardest punch yet; Volta would have decreed it a megaton. Blood flew from the hunter's mouths and they were sent flying backwards across the dust and dirt.

"Really," Dick said ruefully. "You're relentless you two. But I've got you in my sights now." He hoisted his cannon, aimed at the badly weakened bounty chasers.

"STOP!" Harry raced across the field, standing in the path of Dick's aim.

"Hey!" Johnny cried. "Don't try and stop him!"

"You should listen to the weaklings," Dick rumbled. "Do you really want to die this badly, ya snot-nosed brat?"

Harry paled at the darkness of the cannon's barrel, now pointed directly at him. He fell to the ground, knees trembling so fast they practically vibrated.

"Gargargar! That's what I thought!"

"Dick," one of the bandits began, running up to his leader. "We've finished loading the cart with all the loot."

"Then let's pull out of here," Dick commanded. "No point in picking on weaklings."

"Wait just one minute!"

The Mountain Whale rolled his eyes. "Oh come on, you know how this will go! Just give it a rest! You've worn me out, and I've gotta break my bro out of wherever they've got him. He's got claustrophobia, a real bad case."

"I DON'T CARE!" Johnny cried. He looked toward the frightened Harry, his battered armor a testament to the harsh reality of battle. But it was his eyes that pained him the most, and made him remember. Remember how he had felt when he was a child, hoping for a hero to save the people he loved, and the meager fruits of their labor. That hero had come, but he wasn't here for poor Harry. Who would take his place?

"You stop right there, criminal!" Slowly, Johnny got to his feet, Yosaku helping him up. "We may have lied about Billy, but I'm not lying now, when I say we've turned in dozens…no, _hundreds _of bounties by a hair, and even some by a _clump _of hairs!"

"That's right!" Yosaku cried. "If we let you escape, it will shame us for generations to come! And right when we've found new resolve to fight with!"

"It's not worth it," Dick hissed. "You'll never win."

Johnny bowed his head, blood dripping onto the ground beneath it. "Maybe we won't earn anything…but nevertheless, there are times when a man has to stick to his beliefs, and fight no matter the cost! I won't let a generation of kids see the villains of this world rampage unopposed!"

"You're insane," Dick growled, teeth clenched and eyes twitching. "Neither of you will be long for this world if you keep believing shit like that!"

"We knew that when we started!" Johnny retorted.

"Men!" Dick roared. "Beat these fools until they can no longer stand!"

"Yeah!" the bandits cried, swarming the two hunters without hesitation. "Come and get it!" They grabbed them by the arms and laid into them, punching and kicking with the fevered energy of a violent mob.

Poor Harry got knocked aside, sent sprawling in the dirt near the fence. He sat up with tears in his eyes, watching in horror has his would-be protectors were pummeled by the looters. He jumped to his feet and tried to run back, only to get jerked by a hand on his arm. He looked behind him and gasped.

The two strange men were right behind him, the one with green hair holding him in his grip. Harry's shock quickly turned to anger, and he tried to rip his arm away. "What the hell do you two want?! Let me go! They're in there fighting for me!"

"If you feel like fighting," Zoro intoned. "Think about your situation first. What can you do with the power you've got?"

The question gave Harry pause, as he pulled his hand away. He looked back to the hunters, watching helplessly as they received a face full of fist. They flew across the ground, collapse like puppets with severed strings.

"Please," Harry cried. "Help them. I know you guys can do it!"

"Don't worry," Volta said. "We will."

Dick sighed. "You poor fellows. There isn't a spot on your faces that hasn't been messed up. Well, it's about time we finished this. It won't gain me a cent to kill you two, but I might as well. Consider it your fate, for being born the weaklings you are. The bitter fate that comes of trying to take the head of the great Mountain Whale." He smiled morosely. "Boys, send these fools into the next world together."

One of the bandits picked up Johnny's dadao, while another did the same with Yosaku's. "Sayonara suckers!" one cried, and they swung in unison.

"NOO!" Harry cried.

_CLANG!_

Two clashes reverberated throughout the land. Where Zoro and Volta had been, a dust cloud now rose, causing the young boy to cough even as he smiled with joy.

"That's enough, don't you think? Zoro questioned, his sword blocking Yosaku's. "This fight was over a long time ago."

"Yeah," Volta concurred, Blitzeinschlag deflecting Johnny's blade with ease. "This is just overkill."

Johnny raised his head, staring at Volta through swollen eyes. "Hey…you're that guy from before."

"You took my words to heart," Volta smiled. "Good for you. Sorry it turned out so poorly." A novice in the sword he may have been, but he didn't need training to know how to knock a sword away. The bandit fell back, Johnny's dadao clattering to the ground.

"It looks like I'm going to be stealing your prey once again though. Zoro, you handle the mooks…I'll cut down the Dick."

"Got it." With far more grace then Volta, he too knocked Yosaku's sword out of the hand of its user, right into his own. He leaned over and picked up Johnny's. "Hope you don't mind if I use these for a minute."

"Johnny nodded. "Sure. But how are you gonna fight with three-"

Zoro put the longsword in his mouth, and the bloodied hunter paled. "I-I know you!" he cried.

"Yeah, I do too!" Yoasku exclaimed. "You're that guy we've heard so much about! The inventor of the Three-Sword Style, the scourge of crime everywhere in the East!"

The shouted in unison, loud enough for all to hear. _"The Pirate Hunter, Roronoa Zoro!" _

The reaction was immediate. The gathered bandits, eighteen strong, whipped out their swords, forming ranks against the young man. Volta could see the fear in their eyes. "Damn, I didn't know you were _this_ famous."

"Neither did I," Zoro said. He grinned maliciously. "It feels good to be feared."

"Ho, so this is the fabled pirate hunter?" Dick questioned, a smirk on his lips. "Well, even if you are, you can't defeat all my men at once, not even with three swords! You'll never reach me."

"Using three swords," Zoro intoned. "Is not the same as using Three-Sword Style." He closed his eyes, breathing deeply. He felt the muscles in his arms, bulging with power, and ever so slightly he loosened his grips on his blades. "Use all of their power," he whispered. "Use all of _your _power. But do not break the blades."

"Three-Sword Style you say?" Dick mocked. "Why, how bout a demonstration! Get him!"

The bandits charged, a dozen and a half katanas bearing down on the green-haired teenager.

None came even close to hitting him. Like a coiled spring, Zoro shot through their ranks, twisting and turning with expert precision. He sliced through muscle and flesh, but not too deep, and not too long. With a flash he blasted through them, sending their unconscious bodies flying into the air. A dozen swords snapped in two; the other six shattered completely.

"Incredible!" Johnny cried. "He took them all down at once!"

"Outstanding!" Yosaku cried.

Zoro looked at the dadao in his hands. They vibrated ever so slightly, but neither broke, or even looked chipped. "Alright," he muttered. "Progress."

"Watch out!" Harry cried.

Zoro's eyes widened; he had grown distracted. He looked up to see Dick's barrel pointed right in his face.

Volta flew across the battlefield, slamming his foot into Dick's cannon just as he pulled the trigger. The explosion was deafening, the force of the blast knocking Zoro backwards. He gasped in pain, his left cheek burned and his shirt aflame.

"BIG BRO!" The hunters cried.

"Damn, you made me miss!"

"That was the point," Volta growled. "Hey kid!" He tossed his scabbard to Harry, who caught it clumsily.

"You think you can defeat me?!" Dick roared. "Eat this!"

But Volta was already charging. He held his sword awkwardly to the side, hoping to slice into Dick's arm. But the large bandit was prepared for such an attack and leaned away from the strike, knocking his cannon into the blade. Blitzeinschlag cut through the barrel, both fighters jumping back to keep their distance.

"Gargargar, now you have missed!" Dick laughed. "Prepare to die!" He turned the gun around and pulled the trigger.

_**BOOM!**_

The explosion was loud, bright, and right in Dick's face. The cut had compromised the gunpower chamber, just like with Walkway's revolver. But this was a hundred times worse; shrapnel flew everywhere, slicing into the bandit's face, arm, and neck. One piece in particular flew downward, almost too fast to see, right into…

_SHUNK!_

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! MY DICK, MY DIIICK!"

"NOO!" Harry cried again, but now for a very different reason.

"Damn…" Zoro breathed. "That's bad."

The hunters shivered where they lay, slowly curling into balls, while the gathered citizens watched in shock. "Boo!" one of them cried. "Low blow! Booo!"

The crowd soon followed his example, booing and thumbs-downing the pale hunter, while Dick continued to howl.

Volta walked over to him, face filled with regret. "That was not intentional. I'm so, so-"

"GOTCHA BITCH!" Dick slammed his massive fist into Volta's stomach. He flew into the side of the storehouse, coughing up blood along the way.

The Mountain Whale pulled the piece of shrapnel from his leg. "That was close," he squeaked, sweat pouring down his face. "Far, far too close…but it missed by a hair."

"Hey, that's our line!"

"BOOOOO!"

"ALL OF YOU SHUT UP!" Dick roared. He grabbed his ruined bazooka, tearing the barrel off. The jagged edges of the metal gleamed in the sunlight. "Time to put an end to this, once and for all!" He reeled back his arm, ready to throw it at the stunned bounty hunter.

"ONI GIRI!"

Three large cuts opened up on the Mountain Whale's body, and just like his men, he flew into the air. The barrel fell from his hand, and he collapsed to the ground, defeated at last.

Zoro smiled. "Still not broken. Progress indeed."

"Roronoa!"

He turned, the two hunters right behind him. Battered, bloodied, and shaking though there were, the look in their eyes was one Zoro could respect. It was the look of the determined.

"Roronoa Zoro, please allow us to join you," Johnny asked, left fist under his chin.

"We are a special bounty hunting unit," Yosaku continued, right hand stroking his stubble. "We were a bit cowardly before, but we've decided to go all out from now on. We're already fearsome enough to take down anything below your level, by a hair of course."

"Names?"

"I'm Johnny," the one with the mohawk said.

"I'm Yosaku," the one with the blonde hair said.

Zoro smiled. "You two have guts, I'll give you that. But you could use some training." He pointed at Volta, slowly climbing to his feet. "That idiot doesn't know the first thing about swords," he stated bluntly. "And quite frankly I think I can handle only one student right now. But if we run into you again in the future, you'll have my sword."

"You'll have mine as well," Volta gasped, lurching over to them. "Damn, I think that bastard cracked one of my ribs."

Johnny bowed to Volta, Yosaku quickly following suit. "Thank you for your advice," he said. "It helped remind me of why I'm doing this in the first place."

"Me as well," Yosaku chimed in. "From now on, we'll devote ourselves to victories by a hair, not defeats!"

"And thank you all for defending my town!" Harry cried happily. "If it weren't for you guys, we'd be starving within a week!"

"That's right!" a random citizen added. "We found the cart full of our food! We need that for the winter!"

Volta sighed. "To think that this bastard would have condemned so many…" He kicked Dick's burned, slashed-up face. "How many more bandit groups are out there, amidst the mountains and valleys of Cozia?"

"Many," one of the townsfolk answered. "But none quite as strong as Dick."

Zoro laughed. "Then cleaning up the rest shouldn't be a problem at all!" He spotted the cart, overladen with the fruit of the people's labor. "Say, mind if we barrow that?"

The citizen looked confused. "It's Dick's, so you can have it, but what for?"

An evil smile crossed Zoro's features. "I have a few…_training ideas_ I'd like to use it for."

.~===)==============={%}

"Faster, faster!"

"This…huff…is not…huff huff…how I wanted…huff…to spend…"

"Less talk, more pull!" Zoro commanded. "Faster!"

The cart was perfect for travel over the rocky ground, carved ridges covering the wooden wheels. Volta cursed those wheels with his every free breath, as he pulled it toward Kajiya's house upon the plateau. At a sprint. With Zoro standing in it.

"FASTER!" Zoro shouted. "Up the stairs, up the stairs!"

And up the stairs they went, Zoro laughing the whole time. "I thought…huff…you wanted…huff…to train me…huff…not work me…to death!" Volta tried to say more, but his legs failed him, and he collapsed into the cart.

"I see you've begun training him," Kajiya snickered.

"The best swordsmen can handle anything," Zoro intoned. "Under any circumstance." He took a sip of tea, and placed Volta's cup on his chest.

The blacksmith took Wado off the wall, handing it over the swordsman. "I suggest you get two new blades quickly," he advised. "If you wish to battle Volta with all your strength."

"I won't need all my strength. Just enough to get the guy to a basic level of swordsmanship." Zoro frowned. "We turned in Dick, so we have money to spare when it comes to buying new blades."

Kajiya smiled. "Then I wish you luck. Farewell, Roronoa Zoro. The next time we meet, I hope you do not bring any more broken blades to my shop."

"I don't think you'll have to worry about that anymore," Zoro said with a smile. He looked toward the town, and then toward the valley beyond. "Alright Volta, your rest is over!"

"Zoro!"

He turned.

Kajiya waved. "I have faith in your dream. If anyone can become the greatest swordsman, it's you."

Zoro smiled. "Thank you."

He pulled the cart down the stairs this time, Volta resting in the back. They traveled around Dirt this time, toward the solitude of the great valley.


	10. Cozia Arc Part 3

**Chapter 10 – To Slice a Stone**

I awoke to the most horrible pain I've ever felt in my life. I staggered to my feet, leaned over the side, and vomited, a torrent of pink sticky fluid and chucky meatloaf.

"Wow, you weren't joking when you said you get seasick," Peachy chuckled. "Would you like a canteen?"

I took a deep breathe, fu̵̷̕c̨k ̸̕h̕i̷̡m̶͘ fu̵̷̕c̨k̷ h̕i̷̡m̶͘ fu̵̷̕c̨k̷ ̸̕h̕i̷̡m̶͘ trying to control my anger. I could feel it bubbling up inside of me, ready to erupt in a torrent of blood-splattering demolition. With a shaky hand I turned the nail in my head, letting the sharp pain drown out the screaming within me. "I would."

The water felt heavenly on my lips, and while washing away the vile taste of puke. I swished and spat and drank, feeling the clear liquid sooth my aching throat. "Thank you."

"My master told me to keep you alive," Peachy intoned, as serious as ever. "And that is what I shall do." He smiled. "Admittedly, I should have known better then to feed you meatloaf."

"And I should have known better then to eat it," I said. I sat back down and took another drink. He really wasn't so bad, this priest of the Order; he didn't deserve to die just yet. He had actually gotten me interested in meeting his master, whoever that might be.

Peachy looked to the horizon, another smile creasing his lips. "We've arrived. Goa Kingdom is up ahead."

A thick line of green and blue lay on the horizon, growing closer and closer at a rapid rate. Soon I could make out the white stone of the docks, and the tiny colorful buildings that lay beyond it. I thanked Neptune for just a quick journey, and for the inconspicuous fishing vessel that had made it so speedy.

At least until it started rocking in the waves again, and I felt bile rise to my throat. Damn this abominable ship and this blasted sea!

"My master lies within that ship," Peachy said, pointing to a monstrous vessel near the end of the harbor. I took another deep breath, looking in the direction of his finger.

My heart stopped beating. My blood stopped circulating. Everything seemed to freeze, as I beheld the craft for what it was."

"No…no, NO, NOO!" I grabbed Peachy by the throat, slamming him against the side of the mast. The rage, oh the _rage, _I could feel it building a̷͞nd̨͝ ̀͞b͡u̸̸̧i͞͏l̶͘͠d́̕͠i̵n̸͏g ̸̛aņd̸͝ ̕͡_b͏͟͡u̕͢ild҉i͘͡n̴͘g̢._

"You're giving me over to the Nobles!" I roared. "You lied to me!"

"He did no such thing."

I whirled, and behind me stood a new man, one that had not been on this boat before. He was tall and muscular, his long hair a light brown, dressed in a skintight purple bodysuit that encompassed all but his hands, his head, and his legs. Over this he bore a set of chest and thigh armor, black as obsidian, decorated lightly with a pink belt, its buckled shaped like a heart. Jet black boots enveloped the lower legs, like a pair of bulging leeches. His square face seemed made of stone, and his eyes gleamed a bright red.

I blinked, and paled; I had been mistaken. His buckle was not a heart, but a hoof. The Hoof of the Dragon, pink to offset the purple, but unmistakable in shape.

"I am General Cupajoe," the man growled, voice rumbling like an avalanche. "Commander of the Saint's Guard. My master is expecting you."

"THE ONLY THING HE CAN EXPECT IS DEMOLITION!" I roared. I couldn't handle it, couldn't couldn't couldn't, it was too much, this man, this ship, I had lost the battle with myself. N̢̢ơ͢w ̨̕a̕l̸l m̛ust͟ ̶͜͏d̶͢i̛͝ę. Mỳ ̛͢͡s͘pįk̕e̛͟,͘͞͞ ͏m̛̛ý́ ̶̕h̀a̶̕mḿ̕e͢͏͜ŗ, ̨̕͜ś̸w̛͠͠iņ͝g f̴ór̶ ͏m͠͏͟ę̵,̵̀ ͟i̸͏̸m͟p̀ale f̛͠ó̷ŗ͢ m͝͏̢e͢!҉̵

…huh?

My spike…where did it go? My hand was gone. _WHERE IS MY HAND?!_

"My hand!" I jumped back, and my hand reappeared, the spike clutched within it.

"You don't want to attack me," Cupajoe stated, a small smirk cracking the stoniness of his features. "I will not end well with you."

I rushed forward again, and once more my hand disappeared, but now I saw how. A black hole and appeared before it, right in the air, and I had sent my hand through it. With a shout I jumped back, and my hand reappeared from the darkness. The hole closed, as if it had never been.

"Don't be alarmed," the general soothed. "My Void-Void Fruit is harmless. There's plenty of oxygen in there. I'll even give you a light source."

"That's enough!" Peachy thundered. "You've had your fun, now follow your orders. He is not to be harmed, yes, but that includes his psyche as well. Don't make him snap."

"It's too late, you fuckers," I spat. "I can't wait to form an art piece out of your-"

He was right in front of me, and with two hard yanks, my hammer and spike were in his hands. Two voids opened beneath them, and he dropped them in.

"NOOO!" I threw a punch at his face, hoping to shatter his nose. His hand was already there, ready to catch my arm, and when his fingers closed around it, he smiled. "Do you want to keep this arm?"

"…yes." I felt tears spring to my eyes. How? How had this all gone so wrong? Damn them all, damn them all!

"Then shut up and sit down," he rumbled. His eyes blazing like twin murderous fires, and when I stared into them the rage within me fled, choking on its fear. I collapsed to the floor, and the boat rocked again.

"Get him over the railing," Peachy ordered. The general did so, just in time for me to eject the remaining bile in my throat.

"I'm sorry Dareda," Peachy apologized, and he really did sound sorry. "Please remain calm until we get to my master. I promise, this will all be worth it."

It sure as hell didn't feel worth shit right now, but I relented, sagging onto the side of the boat. Cupajoe let go of me, flexing his arms. "I'll give you back your tools soon."

We drew ever closer, and now I could make out the Goa Kingdom much more clearly. The harbor was massive, constructed entirely of the whitest stone I had ever seen. A lighthouse sat upon a jutting pier, and that too was made of stone. Now wooden docks or piers anywhere in sight, and few ships as well.

"A small dock lies to the side," Peachy explained. "There used to be a vast trash heap to the east, but it was burned down several years ago. Now it's being restored as farmland. Isn't that wonderful?"

I half-listened to his chatter, but my attention was soon fully on the city, as it grew steadily larger before me. I had seen pictures of it before, and I knew its layout, but nothing had prepared me for such stunning construction, a builder's magnum opus as ever there was one on this accused ocean.

The harbor had a second level, wide stone stairs leading up to it, where glistening cranes moved large crates and bundles, before loading them onto carts to be pulled into the Kingdom's marketplace. And just behind this loading area was the town proper, stretching almost from one horizon to another. Dozens of colors, primary, secondary, tertiary, bleeding into the stone and bricks that made up the walls of the buildings. Gold ringed the towers and roofs and topped the parapets that lined them, the sun gleaming off a few with such brilliant I had to turn away.

I counted twenty, no, thirty on the edge of the harbor alone. How many more of these stunning castles lay within the wall that encompassed the city?

Speaking of which, I could barely make out its edges on the ends of the harbor, thick cannons guarding the potential weakness in an otherwise impregnable defense. It rose, gray and stern, over the buildings closest to it, any towers taller located too deep in the city to be used to cross over. It truly seemed like one piece of rock, smoothed and bent until it encircled the Kingdom's borders.

Just beyond, I could make out the thin greenery of the farmland Peachy had mentioned. I'm not farmer, but I could immediately tell it looked terribly unhealthy, the ground gray and ashen, unsuitable for good crops. What on earth had happened here?

"I think the master will be very pleased with you," Peachy continued. "There's absolutely nothing in this world he loves more than an interesting person. And you've become quite interesting as of late."

I gulped nervously, as he grew closer to the massive ship that served this particular Celestial Dragon. I had heard enough horror stories to know that nothing good could come of bringing about their vile attention, but now as not the time for rage. I need to remain calm, to build myself escape route out of this nightmare. Damn it, I should have killed Peachy the moment he found me? No, now was not the time of regret. Calm, Dareda. Calm.

We pulled up the ship, now towering above us like a giant. It must have been the size of a battleship, I realized, and just as destructive as one, twenty-two massive cannons lining its side. The figurehead was almost too grandiose for words, a golden falcon wearing a helm of silver, with jewel encrusted wings and legs that must have doubled for anchors. Royal blue and golden encrustments lined the bow, and four masts, as thick as hundred-year oaks, held up vast folds of cloth, topped with golden crow's nests that looked like crowns.

As soon as we bumped into the smooth, wooden hull, a ladder cascaded down the side, stopping just short of my chest.

"Climb," Cupajoe commanded. "Unless you want me to carry you."

I scowled and reached for the first rung, pulling myself up with all my strength. Within seconds I was darting up like a rat, unwilling to hesitate for even a moment, as I climbed higher and higher. I chanced to look down and paled at the sight of the small fishing boat, the tip of its mast now twenty feet below me. But I had been up high before, repairing windows and cracks, scrapping out gutters, and remove birds' nests. Nah, this wasn't that bad.

I scampered my way up the rest of the side, finally reaching the railing. With a groan I pulled myself over it collapsing onto the deck.

"Welcome aboard the _Pangaea,_ Mr. Dareda." A young woman stood before him, dressed in a simple black suit, her pink hair tied up in a long chignon. "My name is Coo Zuzy, and I'll be your guide to the master."

"Just call me Dareda," I ground out politely. "You creeps keep calling me Mr. Not a fan."

Zuzy smiled. "I'll keep that in mind! Now, please come this way."

The sterncastle was surprisingly plain, a giant wooden rectangle adorned with round windows. She let me through a gilded door, through a narrow hallway lined with more gilded doors, finally into a large chamber near the back of the ship, a place that had the looks of a study.

Despite my dread, I couldn't help but admire the elegance of it Apart from a golden chandelier, dangling a hundred hard-cut crystals, it wasn't a very extravagant room. A simple oakwood desk dominated the space before the windows, a white high-backed armchair facing away from it. Shelf after shelf of books lined the walls, many bearing the marks of much use. A large globe flanked the desk's right side, a strange plant on the other.

Chancing a glance behind, I noticed two paintings beside the door I had just entered through, held in golden frames and stretched upon a strangely thin canvas. One showed the world, but bright green instead of blue, the Red Line dotted with gold. The other displayed an eagle, tearing into the body of a stereotypical pirate. I smiled at the visceral detail, especially the entrails. And that's when I recognized the canvas.

"Human skin? Very creative."

"Thank you. I thought you'd appreciate that." The Noble had a deep voice, but smooth and mellow, unlike the rough growl of his general. "Zuzy's ability can create flesh. I had two of my entourage tattooed to my specifications, and she slid the artwork right off their backs, replacing it simultaneously to avoid injury."

"All of this for me?" I asked hesitantly.

"And for me," the Noble replied. "To remind myself of what I'm fighting for. And what I must destroy."

The chair began to shift, and the Noble rose from it, into the light streaming from the windows. He turned, and for the first time, I saw his face.

I had heard many rumors about the World Nobles before this day, each more monstrous then the last. That they made their slaves dance on beds of hot coals and fed young mermaids to piranhas. That they shot in the streets anyone who ran across their path and captured young women from their homes, to be made brides against their will. Stories always depicted them as grotesque creatures, stuffed inside fancy space suits and helmets, as to not breathe the air of the 'wretched commoners.'

The young man before me looked nothing like that. He was _gorgeous, _face and body chiseled to perfection, like a marble statue from the ancient Empire of Grekado. His light blonde hair waved unkept from his head, and emerald green eyes shone under equally blonde lashes.

His untucked, buttoned shirt glowed pure white, as were the pants he wore over his golden shoes. A transparent ascot sat under his collar, and it too had a glistening sheen to it, like a small cloud of pixie dust frozen in time.

Damn it all, I didn't even swing that way, but his presence, the look in his eyes, the soft smile on his lips…

My throat dried up, words failing to form. I couldn't even breathe.

"I think our guest needs a glass of water," the Noble chuckled. "Zuzy-"

"Already prepared, my lord." She held a glass of water and handed it to me. I gulped it, careful not to let it go down the wrong pipe. I coughed once anyway, to better clear my throat. "Who…who are you?"

"There are nineteen noble families," the Noble explained. "I am from the second, the Brangolo family. My name is Saint Brangolo Dimolo. But you can just call me Dimolo; no need to trouble yourself with saint or lord or anything like that."

I boggled, unable to comprehend what I was hearing. A World Noble, getting chummy with someone like me?

"B-b-but…your grace-"

Dimolo laughed, an eerily cheerful sound. "There you go, giving me titles! Don't be afraid; nothing untoward is about to happen to you, I promise."

I couldn't speak again, and this time I had now water. So I nodded, working saliva back into my mouth.

"You were expecting someone a little more…rotund?" Dimolo laughed again. "Those damn rumors, always trying to lessen the glory of the Dragons! Did you know that's what we call ourselves? Noble is such a generic term, the adjective 'world' only giving it the slightest enhancement. Now, _Celestial Dragon_…doesn't that sound so much better? More worthy of our status?"

He said all of this with such an abject lack of arrogance that it was almost disconcerting. He seemed genuinely interested in my answer to the question.

"…yes, I suppose so," I choked out.

A black void opened before me, a large armchair rising out of it. It shrunk just enough for the legs to rest upon the floor, and Cuapjoe's hands sank back into the darkness, which promptly closed behind them.

"Take a seat Dareda. Why, you look quite shaken! Is this your first time seeing the power of a Devil Fruit?"

"…I thought they were a myth." I took a seat, just as he asked. The rage sprang suddenly to life within me, but I pushed it down. Not here, not yet. N̴͞ơ̡͜t̨͠ ̡͠y͢͜͡e͝͠t̵̨.͏̴̵

"I like the look in your eyes," Dimolo quipped, as he took his own seat behind the desk. "Do you wish to kill me, Dareda?"

WHAT? How had be known? The rage vanished as if it had never been.

"You won't, of course," Dimolo continued. "You wouldn't even get close. Not that it matters either way."

…what the hell was _that _supposed to mean?

"Why do you want to see me?" I asked, as politely as I could.

"I'm interested in your work," he stated plainly. "And more importantly, I'm interested in how your work can benefit me." He opened a drawer I couldn't see and pulled out a large envelope. He slid it across the desk. "Why don't you have a look? I'm sure you'll be quite interested."

Tentatively, I picked up the envelope, opening it slowly. Blueprints lay within, page after page of complex drawings and sketches. I looked them over carefully, my incredulousness growing with each turn of the page. By the end, I didn't know whether to cry or laugh. "What…what is all this?"

"Your new project," Dimolo said with a smile. "I would like it done by the end of…let's say…July. Yes, that would be perfect."

"But that's only two months!"

"Today is the twentieth, Dareda. You have a bit more than just two months."

My hands trembled. My teeth chattered. I could feel my heart racing, already the back of my chair was slick with sweat. How long had I been sitting in it? How long had I been in this room?

"You are a lover of death," Dimolo said quietly. "And I've just given you the plans to the greatest deathtrap every devised. Well, aside from Impel Down of course, but that's not 'officially' a death trap."

"Why do you need me to make this?" I said shakily. "If you already had someone draw the prints-"

"I drew the prints," Dimolo corrected. "But alas, I don't have the technical talent needed to construct this. Nor are there many builders and repairmen out there with the…shall we say, _loose ethics_, necessary to take the job. But then I heard about you."

I looked at the plans again, and this time I felt a new emotion, one unexpected but not unwanted. A jolt of elation. This…this could be _magnificent! _The magnum opus that I so desperately wanted to create! Spiked chambers, blades doorknobs, rusted claws…it even had edged hammers built into the ceiling, for clean beheadings!

And there was _space, _whole _chambers _with nothing within them! Everything I had ever imagined making, ever imagined designing, could be easily integrated into this already superb, literally torturous labyrinth! These plans were beautiful, absolutely _bee̕e̛e͢͢a͟͜u̡t͠i̧̕͟f͘̕ưl̕͏! _

"Do I have your contract?" Dimolo asked.

"It's yours," I breathed. "But…I have two requests…I know I shouldn't be asking someone like you-"

"Request anything you want," the Dragon purred. "If it makes the construction go any faster, I'm more than happy to grant it."

Thunderstruck, I merely stared at him for a moment. A Noble…no, a _Dragon,_ willing to give me anything?

"I want to do this myself. It'll take a wee bit longer, but this project…I'm already in love. I couldn't bear the thought of anyone else trying to bring this to life."

"But of course," Dimolo chuckled. "It _is _your magnum opus."

"And one more thing." It was ballsy, but what the hell, he had offered. "I want test subjects. A _lot _of test subjects. Just to make sure it's all running smoothly by the deadline."

The request just made Dimolo smile wider. "How many are we talking?"

"_Dozens,"_

Dimolo shook his head. "Dareda, I do believe great minds think alike. I was already prepared to give you a significant number of guinea pigs."

"Really?! Who?!"

There was a soft knock at the door. "Dimolo," Peachy called from the other side. "Sir Outlook the Third and his son are here to see you."

Dimolo rose. "Our meeting has come to end, Dareda. But rest assured, you will have your subjects."

"Wait." I tried to contain my excitement; this was a professional relationship now. "Why? Why build all this? Is there a greater purpose?"

The Dragon merely smiled again. "Like I said, Dareda…great minds think alike."

.~===)==============={%}

The little town of Dirt lay over the mountain now, out of sight and out of mind. Nothing but stony wilderness now, as far as Volta could see.

He squinted, the bright light of the sun making peering upward a challenge. He quickly ducked his head down and continued to write.

"What are you jotting down now?" Zoro asked.

"We've learned of a lot of criminals," Volta replied. "I'm trying to keep track of everything we known so far. Alright, done. I wrote it in English for you."

_May 20__th__, 1520_

_The Organization – powerful pirate crew/crime family, one thousand strong, plans on growing to five thousand and finding the One Piece. _

_The Administration_

_Don – leader (possible suspects: Bear King, "Four-Play" Krieg?)_

_Combat Commander (trainer?)_

_Three Gems (enforcers?)_

_Idea Man (general manager?)_

_Wingo Walkaway – defected, still at large_

_Yit-Yot Horasha and Copasta__ – deflected, under Navy protection_

_Dareda – serial killer, violent and depraved. Worth __13,000,000._

"_Iron Mace" Alvida – Capt of Alvida Pirates, extremely hard to track. Worth __5,000,000._

_Eureka "Flowerblood" Yurikah – Capt of Tulip Pirates, raids florists. Worth __6,000,000. _

"How many more wanted posters do you have?"

Zoro pulled his stack out, thinner than it had been before. "We've taken out Albedu, Albedya, Sard, Tacobo, and now Dick and Billy. There isn't much small fry left, except for this guy right here. I hear he likes to sneak around these parts, stealing what he can get his hands on."

He gave the poster to Volta. A dirty-blonde fiend smiled at the camera, half his teeth missing and gums bleeding.

**WANTED**

**DEAD OR ALIVE**

**Henna Oyag**

฿ **1,200,000**

**If you encounter this individual, do not attempt to engage unless you are a marine, a World Government employee, or a registered bounty hunter or privateer. If capture is successful, turn into your nearest local Marine or WG facility. Rewards for dead bounties will be reduced; the specific amount varies per area.**

**MARINE**

"I really wish they'd list the crimes," Volta muttered. "No way to tell how dangerous a person is besides bounty, and that's not a good indicator in the least."

Zoro shrugged, "If he's below five mil, he's likely not a problem to deal with. Bounty hunting is mostly finding the bounties."

Volta grinned wolfishly. "True, but when you _do _find them, its fighting time. So, let's get this training started."

Now it was Zoro's turn to grin. "You poor thing; you have _no_ idea what's in store. I've been thinking about what we'll be doing for a while now, and I've created the perfect regiment." He flipped over Oyag's poster, beckoning for Volta's pen. He wrote slowly and without grace, but it was legible, and deeply worrying.

"First things first, we need to rework the way your body approaches combat. Your main problem is that you've been trained to be a martial artist. You've been conditioned to accept strikes from the enemy. But in a sword duel, doing so means death."

Volta nodded.

"You let your guard down too easily," Zoro continued. "You wouldn't have those bruised ribs if you hadn't gotten so close to Dick. So, we're going to fix that too. Alright, all finished!"

The enthusiasm with which he said this only heightened Volta's fear of what was to come, and indeed, the regiment looked almost sadistically punishing.

"One thousand practice stabs, one thousand practice slashes? In _thirty minutes_? That's impossible!"

Zoro conked him. "That's your _third _mistake! You're too quick to declare things impossible. Don't you wanna grow stronger? You won't do that if you don't push yourself to the limit, and beyond. I need the hat."

_SHUMP_

He returned with his training swords, presenting them to Volta. Now that he had a moment to really look at them, the pale hunter realized that he had been mistaken. What he had thought to be three training swords was now four, the new addition made of a light wood instead of bamboo.

"Shinai are straight and flexible, unlike katana. Which makes them surprisingly good practice swords for learning to use a rapier." The green-haired teacher threw one to his protégé. "On the other hand, a bokken is more like an actual sword, but made of oak instead of steel. It'll still hurt like hell if it hits though, so be careful." He dropped his other shinai and held the bokken in a traditional kendo stance. "I want you to thrust. Don't hold back."

Volta did so, his arm shooting forward with a fair amount of his strength. Zoro deflected with ease. "Again."

Another thrust, this time sent to the left. The next got deflected back to the right.

"Again."

Volta paused, considering his opponent carefully. His attacks had all been the same, aimed directly at Zoro's chest. But that was where his guard lay strongest, he realized. This time he jerked to the side and sent a jab at Zoro's leg. He deflected it with no less skill or speed, but his stern face bent slightly, almost in a smile.

"Alright. Before you start my regiment, let's have a little practice duel. I can gauge your skill better in battle."

"Not in the least." Volta gulped nervously, spreading his feet apart and holding his sword out in front of him, in proper fencing form. His footwork fell into the old habits of his Jeet Kune Do, twisting his body to the side to decrease possible points of impact.

Zoro moved like a tiger, swift and without mercy. Volta tried to parry, but the more experienced swordsman slipped through his defense and wacked him right in the chest. Stinging pain shot through him, but Volta only gritted his teeth and pushed forward. He slashed the air furiously, hoping to land even a glancing blow, but Zoro was too fast for him.

"The problem you have," he critiqued. "Is that you put too much of yourself in your attacks. This isn't a battle of bodies, but of blades. You need to let go of how you used to do things."

Volta took a deep breath, calming his mind. He pushed aside the years of training, stretching out his legs and wiggling his toes. "Come at me again."

Zoro did so. Wood slammed into bamboo, but not for long. The green-haired blade master pressed forward, but not with his chest. He kept himself at a distance, letting his bokken strike for him. Volta recognized this subtle difference, and tried to follow it, forcing himself to move back, just within the range of Zoro's sword and not on top of it.

But within seconds his hand began to burn, his shinai falling out of it. "You're still too linear," Zoro admonished.

"Fencing requires a certain level of linear swordplay," Volta countered. "I can't slash as well as you can."

Zoro smiled. "But maybe you can, if you learn the ins and out of your sword. Remember Volta, don't declare the impossible unless you have damn good reason to."

He charged again, not giving Volta time to retrieve his weapon. But he had counted on this. As soon as Zoro was upon him, Volta fell the ground, hitting it hands first, and swung his legs right into the swordsman's knocking him off-balance. He leaped to his feet and sprung right over his downed teacher, grabbing his shinai and resuming his stance.

"Not bad!" Zoro laughed, but he too was fast to get back to his feet.

"Raagh!" With a cry Volta lunged, unleashing a furious rush of strikes. Zoro's eyes widened at the onslaught, but he quickly sidestepped it and brought his own shinai down on Volta's head.

"Alright, match over!" Zoro set down his swords, giving Volta a hand back on his feet. "That last attack was interesting; reminded me of my Bull Needles. But it's unfocused and random."

"I'll make sure to fix that going forward," Volta gritted out, as he felt the swiftly growing lump upon his crown. He took up his shinai once more, holding it tightly in his right hand. He shook it, watching the bamboo shaft vibrate ever so slightly. He took a deep breath and began to work.

.~===)==============={%}

"Four hundred and forty-eight…four hundred and forty-nine…four hundred and fifty…"

Zoro cleaned his blades, carefully disassembling them as he had done before. Volta took no notice, his mind entirely focused on the exercises. He slashed over and over, using his right, and when he reached five hundred, he switched to his left. At the end of it all, his arms burned fiercely, and sweat had soaked his ragged clothes.

"Alright," Zoro smiled. "Good work. Now it's time for the thrusts."

Volta went at it, his exhausted muscles screaming for rest. But they did not receive it; if anything, Volta worked them even harder. Soon his arms moved like pistons, sword flying out like a bullet over and over again.

"You're used to punching and kicking forward!" Zoro commented from behind. "Use that same energy to thrust your sword. It's the same basic motion, just turn your wrist!"

His arms began to shake, every thrust inciting a cracking sound in his joints. Volta kept at it. "thirty-five…thirty-six…thirty-seven…thirty-_eight_."

Finally, as the sun began to dip below the horizon, Volta finished. His arms felt like jelly, his legs cramped horribly, even his _tongue_ hurt from all the counting_. _But he had done it. Day one complete.

It was only the beginning. Zoro was merciless, and as soon as the sun began to shine, he sent him on another cart-pulling trek through the valley, dodging rocks and holes, always told to go faster and faster.

This was followed by truly agonizing balance training. He stood on his left arm for a minute, then jumped to his right, and back again, over and over, Zoro watching with a critical eye.

The exercises grew stranger. Cartwheels and backflips, then blindfolded duels, which left Volta covered in stinging welts and big purple bruises.

The end of the day signaled the end of training, and Volta was out cold before Zoro could give his single, lowkey compliment.

"Nice work today," he said softly, before falling asleep himself among the rocks.

The next day brought forth new, horrid pain, the like Volta had never felt before in his arms and legs, across his chest, deep in his core, the kind of pain even the most intense bodybuilders would be loath to endure in their quests for physical accomplishment.

Zoro frowned. "Perhaps I gave you too much to start with. Damn, maybe I should have taken your bruised ribs into account…"

"MAYBE?!"

"Ah well!" Zoro laughed. "I'm sure you'll be fine. Alright, let's start this day off right!"

Starting the day off right, Volta learned to his horror, involved a five-kilometer run blindfolded; Zoro had grown to deeply love blindfolded exercises. Volta lost count of the times he tripped and collapsed, a half dozen new cuts and scratches accompanying the fall.

"Alright, back to the shinai!"

And he was back to slashing and thrusting, working out his exhausted arms even more. And then it was back to cart-pulling, and the balancing, and the cartwheels and backflips, and then new exercises, like dodging and deflecting sharp pebbles, and practicing his rapid thrusting attack, and trying to carry a small boulder while Zoro chased him with his bokken, over and over, and endless cycle of pain and torment, and Volta wondered, is this hell? Did he die when Dick punched him into the storehouse, and was he now stuck in some sort of twisted punishment for his unknown sins?

And always the idea made Volta shake his head. If this was hell, Zoro wouldn't be in it, and as much as he hated the green-haired bastard for his training, he wasn't about to disappoint him by giving up. He had wanted to know swordplay, and if this was swordplay, he would know it like the back of his hand.

And as the days became weeks, he did. Zoro's brutal training was designed to break him down, and break him it did, but when Volta felt himself reach rock bottom, his body too weak to continue, the swordsman declared him ready for building.

After a day of rest, the building began, and it consisted of fighting. And more fighting. And even more fighting. The kind of fighting that left Volta even sorer then when he had finished his cart-pulling, for Zoro was a monster on the field, his bokken in his teeth and his shinai in his hands. He refused to hold back; the very concept seemed anathema to him as a teacher.

Volta didn't hold back either, his increased strength and endurance a boon in the face of Zoro's relentless assaults. He never landed a hit, but he blocked more and more of his opponent's as the days turned to nights, and sometimes back into days again.

He also began to learn the secrets of Santoryu, the unique style Zoro had created. The sword in the mouth had limited maneuverability, but a slight unclenching of the teeth could change its position, and a jerk of the neck made the blade jump. If Zoro charged low, it could easy cut through an opponent's chest, as Volta discovered when the bokken broke the skin of his, only slightly but enough for a thin trickle of blood to flow.

But even more dangerous where the swords in his hands. Zoro was left-handed, but any normal eye would have believed him ambidextrous, so natural were his movements. Two-Sword Style was a natural requirement for Zoro's own, and his mastery of it often left Volta dumbfounded. His shinai worked their way past Volta's like water around rocks, to strike him across the chest and stomach, to slap his arms and legs, to batter his head and ears.

The named moves were the worst, and Volta had the displeasure of facing them all. Oni Giri, Zoro's signature triple-slash, was outright unblockable; the tattooed trainee could only hope to dodge its limited area. The jump-based Tiger Trap was a punishing upper-strike, while the Crab Seize came from below, with chin-shattering force. The Dragon Twister sent Volta airborne, to crash back onto the rocks below, while the Bull Needles forced him backward, moving so quickly that he could only block a third of the stinging strikes.

But eventually the fighting would end, and the two travelers would sleep, or eat lightly with the money they had. When their suitcase grew light, they tracked down Oyag and turned him in. Then they picked up a local newspaper to see if any new bounties had come out. A few more small fry, no new big wigs. They eventually tracked those down too, and the ones after that.

Wake, eat, fight, sleep. Bounty hunting on the weekends. The occasional drunken barroom brawl, always started by Zoro and always finished by Volta, who didn't even drink in the first place. That too was training; he fought knife-wielding bandits and hammered hammer-bearers, muggers with morning stars and drugged-out dregs with pistols and fat clubs.

Volta wielded Blitzeinschlag with all the skill Zoro's regiment had given him, combining it with his own eye for weakness and his mind for tactics. The knife-wielders he outranged, using that fact to stab and slash them with impunity. Hammermen often had beefy users, slow and easy to stagger, a kick to the stomach or face enough to down them. The weak chains of the morning stars were easy to slice, and the fat clubs easier, and Volta's tattoos sprang to life whenever a bullet needed blocking.

And this went on and on, and became its own cycle, but it didn't feel like hell. There was pain, and mistakes that led to blood, but what was to be done about that, except to keep going at it, over and over, learning more and more, finding weakness, finding strength, finding the balance between them?

And all the while, as Volta fought and fought, his sword singing in his grip, as the rough callouses formed on his inner hand, to match the ones on his knuckles, as he pressed Zoro with ever faster thrusts and swipes and jabs, as he grew faster to dodge and faster to block, as he grew stronger, he began to think.

He didn't want to, but he thought of Luffy, the man who would be Pirate King. He thought of the war and chaos that would yield, the battles for supremacy across the sea between the forces he would muster, and the might of the World Government that would be after his head. He thought of the many other pirates out there, the many other foes that sook the Throne, and the chance to claim it.

And he thought of Zoro, his friend, his mentor, his companion, and how he would become the King's Hand, his First Mate, because that was what Zoro had been written to be. Tybalt had never said as such, but what else could he be, on the pirate crew that would shake the world? A man as strong as Zoro would never bow before anyone he deemed unworthy. How fearsome this Luffy must be, to make his beloved friend betray his job, his moral code, and become what he hunted!

"No," he whispered quietly one night, as he rubbed purchased ointment on another bleeding bruise upon his skin. "I will find him and kill him if I must. I won't let Zoro join him. I won't let him be King. I won't let him destroy this world."

He whispered this every night henceforth, and with every word he felt his resolve grow, like a little mustard seed budding forth into the great oak it was meant to be.

Zoro did not hear the words, but he heard the murmurs of them, softly on the breeze, and every night they troubled him before he slept.

And sometimes, they troubled his dreams as well.

.~===)==============={%}

The sixth week passed, and Zoro called for another rest. To the people Volta had met in this world, he would not have looked much different, but the hunter _felt _different. A sense of fullness, of solidness lay within him. His body, already well-defined, had thickened ever so slightly with muscle. He had even gained a little color, enough to off-set the slightly grayish tint he had, making his paleness more natural, less stark.

Of course, it could all be in his head, Volta noted wryly, as he gazed at his reflection within the hat. A mirror had appeared on one of its walls, without a hint of a warning. Volta hadn't even wished for it to look at himself. It had just…been there one morning. He shivered slightly.

"I think this hat has a mind of its own," he told Zoro, who lay sprawled out on the couch.

"Maybe," he replied. "For all we know, Devil Fruits grant sentience to whatever eats them. Still can't believe a hat can eat something, but whatever…"

Volta frowned. He had never seen Zoro so listless, so unmoored. "Did I rush through your training so quickly, that you don't know what to do next?"

"Tsk. You wish. I know exactly what I want to do next. I'm just…thinking about it."

And Zoro thought for quite a while, until at last he bolted from the couch and jumped from their abode, Volta quickly following. Zoro surveyed their meager camp, and the meager supplies that lined it, bought off the bounties of meager criminals. Then he walked off toward the closest mountain. Volta followed after his master.

They didn't need to travel far; the mountain lay to the east, in the same direction as the small town they had been hunting and eating in. It wasn't as tall as many of its brothers and cousins, but its peak would still be one hell of a climb. Volta wondered if Zoro meant for them to do just that.

"I can't remember a time in my life," Zoro said suddenly. "When I didn't want to be a swordsman. I think I was born with that desire. Since as far back as I can remember, I was playing with sticks, then shinai, and when I was ten, I joined Sensei's dojo, and trained there for seven years. When all my training there was done, on the day I left to find Mihawk, I sliced a boulder in two."

Volta surveyed the area, and immediately realized what Zoro was thinking. "I've only been at this for a little over a month," he reminded. "Half of which I spent doing your stupid regiment."

"You're not cutting it today," Zoro said. "I want you to pick one. Pick any boulder you see. When you think you're ready, we'll come back here, and then you'll slice it."

"…I see." Volta observed the many rocks that littered the mountain's foot. All were far from the round sphere that Volta thought of when he heard the word 'boulder,' the kind Ford had run from in one of his action movies. Or…had it been Willis? He could never keep track of the names of those American film stars.

Anyway, the boulders that lay before him were jagged, ugly things, great hunks of the mountain that had broken away, crashing to the ground below. Volta immediately walked to the biggest, most jagged one of all, easily thirty feet high. He studied it carefully, walking around its body, feeling its sides and crevices.

"It will be no easy task," Zoro reminded. "No matter which boulder you cut, none will give easily."

"How long do you suppose it would take me to reach your level of skill, to cut a boulder such as this?"

Zoro shrugged. "You've only just learned the basics of how to handle yourself in a duel. As time goes on, you'll find that skill and strength come more easily to those that seek it out with everything they have."

Volta pursed his lips. Everything he had…was that something he could give? He looked at Zoro, then back to the boulder.

No, it really wasn't. He had devoted himself to growing stronger, but not just in the sword. He stared at his uncovered arm, clearing his mind of all distractions. The tattoos on it lay still for a moment. Then, sluggishly, one began to move, worming across his pale skin. Volta smiled. Progress!

"My goal to rid the world of criminals is one that requires more than just swordsmanship. It requires learning to sail, the ability to spy and assassinate, tactical and strategic skill, and so much more. Not to mention mastering the strange ability I find myself in possession of."

"Or rather, the strange ability that possesses _you_," Zoro chuckled, but Volta wondered if he was only joking.

Volta stared up at the vast boulder once more. "Zoro, can you cut this?"

The swordsman frowned. "…no. Not with one swing."

"Then I sincerely doubt I'll be able to. Not even in a year or two."

Zoro shrugged. "You won't know until you try. You're already so strong."

Volta nodded in acknowledgement and left the biggest boulder's side. He walked to the second largest boulder. "I'll cut this one."

They left the rocks behind and returned to camp. They went into town, and as was their custom, they ate lunch, and on their way out purchased another newspaper.

But this one wasn't like the others; it was much larger, the paper thicker, and likely harder to tear. Volta tried, and it took a surprising amount of effort to rend the edge. Even the ink on the pages had a bold sharpness to them, as if it were still wet. A level of distinction emanated from it, and its frontline picture showed a vast, imperial building, taken from just the right angle to feel imposing and powerful.

"The World Economy Newspaper," Zoro read. "Huh, I've seen a few issues of this from time to time. It's always super expensive."

"We can just read it here," Volta said, retaking his seat at the bar.

The caption of the picture proclaimed it Pangaea Castle, center of power in the World Government. Volta read the paper as Zoro ordered another drink.

"Today marks the beginning of the 1520 Reverie, the 201st since the World Government's formation in 716 KC. As is tradition, the 1520 Reverie will host fifty of the World Government's one hundred and seventy rulers, to discuss current events and global issues with the Five Elder Stars and each other. Primary subjects for this year's meeting remain classified, as are the identities of the fifty attending rulers. No journalists or photographers will be allowed within the Holy City of Mariejois."

Zoro smirked. "An oddly specific detail to write about in a frontpage news story."

"I can practically smell the indignity wafting up from the page," Volta laughed. "Still, this is interesting. I suppose that makes the World Government a democracy."

"Thought a very impaired one," Zoro pointed out. "What kind of meeting only invites less than half its members?"

"Maybe they don't have enough space around the table," Volta quipped.

"Then they should just get a bigger table!"

Volta read the issue front to back, so amazed by the information within that he took out his notebook halfway through, jotting down anything of interest.

It truly was a globally distributed paper, stories from every sea being reported within. In the West, the Five Families had collapsed, four of them shattered by infighting, the last having disappeared without a trace. Up north, a Marine named Commodore Onigumo had begun patrolling a place called Spider Miles. Drug-related deaths and homicides had both dropped almost eighty percent since. A new pirate crew was ravaging the South, slaughtering civilian vessels and other pirates with equal fervor.

In the Grand Line, an enormous scandal had emerged regarding the illegal usage of Dance Powder, a weather-changing chemical that had been banned for starting something called the Gore Gulf Incident.

"The Alabastian Royal Family has been accused of using the chemical to steal moisture from the surround lands of their country, repositioning it around the capital to increase their rainfall."

Zoro scratched his head. "Hard to believe a chemical can do that."

"It's not impossible," Volta replied. "Back in Austria, I learned a lot about chemicals, and supposedly one called silver iodide, which when burned, produces gasses that seed clouds, making them bigger."

That only seemed to confuse the swordsman even more. "How the hell do you seed a cloud? It's not a field."

Volta shrugged. "Not sure myself…it's been quite a while since I messed with anything like that."

"Why were you learning about chemicals in the first place? Doesn't seem like something that would help your assassination job."

"Poisoning. But I was never very good at it."

"Ah."

Volta flipped to the back. "Hey, there's even a story from here, the East…"

He trailed off, eyes wide with shock. His heart began to race, the tattoos on his chest and arms swirling faster than they had in weeks. "Zoro."

The horror in his voice alerted the swordsman immediately. He jumped around the table, looking at what had provoked such a reaction.

A large picture took up the final page, one that showed a message painted onto a wall. Smeared onto it, really, in big grisly capital letters. Neither hunter had any doubt regarding what the 'paint' actually was.

IM GOING TO THE _**G**_R_**O**_CERY STORE TOD_**A**_Y!

IM GONNA BE THE KING DUMMY OF THE AISLES!

COME WITH, LOTS OF FUN!

Below the grisly message, something small and round stuck out of the wall. Volta scanned the article, but he already knew the culprit before he saw the name, printed in bold.

"Dareda," he growled. "The bastard's struck again while we've been idle."

"I'd hardly call the last six weeks idle," Zoro muttered, engrossed in the vile image. "All that blood…what the hell did he kill, a _cow_?"

"And such a strange message…what does it mean?" Volta studied each word, each letter, searching for a hidden meaning. Serial killers loved that stuff, regardless of what world they hailed from. His eyes widened, returned to the g in grocery.

"It's slanted." He pointed it out to his partner. "The g in grocery is slanted, ever so slightly. It was painted at an angle."

"You're right," Zoro exclaimed. "And it's not the only one. The o is slanted too, and the a in today."

In a flash, it all fell into place. "G, o, a…_Goa. _King dummy without the y sounds like kingdom. The bastard's telling us his location!"

"But once you get it, it's too obvious," Zoro realized. "It has to be a trap."

"Maybe…but there's only one of him, and two of us. Actually, make that two hundred, when the Marines storm the island and nail _him _to the wall."

Zoro grinned. "You're right. But we won't get the money if we don't nail him ourselves. Why let the Marines have all the fun?"

Volta couldn't help but agree. "Would you be so kind as to put a hold on my training?"

"You kidding? I'll have you sweating blood the whole way there. Didn't you say you wanted to learn how to sail? I'm gonna hold you to that."

Volta scoffed. "That's hardly a threat. You don't give a crap about sailing; how could you turn that into training from hell?"

An evil glint entered Zoro's eyes. "You forget, my young, foolish apprentice."

"I'm a year older than you."

"Regardless! While you've been learning how to swing and strike, I've been learning how to _teach._ And the best teachers can make _anything _a living hell."

Volta paled. "I don't think that's how that works. Don't the best teachers make everything fun?"

"And haven't you had so much fun, these past six weeks?"

They both laughed at that, until Volta punched Zoro in the nose, and another bar brawl ensued. This time the two friends finished it together.

.~===)==============={%}

"I'm afraid Dimolo has left the Kingdom."

…what? Did I hear that correctly? Dimolo had left?

"What the hell is this!?" I grabbed Peachy by the collar, slamming him against the wall. "I've finished the labyrinth and written my message! He said he'd make sure it got seen in the newspaper! So why the hell as he left today?!"

"Actually, he left a week ago," Peachy corrected. "He's returned to the Holy City to take part in this year's Reverie. Do you know what that is?"

The rage, oh the rage, I could feel it bubbling and building, stronger than it had in so, so long. "I know perfectly well what the Reverie is. And I also know that he doesn't need to do jack _shit _there, so why the hell has he left me when the project is finished?! _ON SCHEDULE?!"_

"Dimolo has his own way of doing things," Peachy replied icily. "But rest assured, your message is in the paper, just as planned. He will return in a fortnight's time."

"_A FORTNIGHT?!" _The rage overflowed, and I threw the priest across the room, his taller hair bending in the breeze. He collapsed over my work bench, tools scattering everywhere _N̸O͟Ơ̸̴Ò̷O̸̶͠ M̶͡Y̨ ̡T̢͟͡O̧҉Ǫ̡Ĺ̡́S̢͟ ͜͡Ḿ̷͠Y ͟T͘͢͜Ò̶̧O͡LS̵̛!̨͜!͏ _Í̴̢ ͘͟L̡͜͝E̡͝AP̵̛͜É̛́D ̸̛͘A͏C̡̛R̵͞O͝S̨S̕ TH̀͘͢E͝ ͏͡R̵Ơ͏O҉́M̡͠ A̧̡N̶͝҉D ͜͏M̡͜Y̡ H̵A͜Ḿ̡M̴͝Ȩ͡R͏ ̡͢I̷̴͡S̷͡ ̛I҉N ̛͘͝MỲ͝ ̨̢͘HA̧N͠͞D̸̢̛ ͘A͟N̨̨͡D̨ ͟I̕'̢̨LL̸͘ ͢͠KI̕L͢L͏ ̕҉Ý̕O҉̵U K͝IL͏L ́Ỳ̴O̷̡U҉͏ ̨̧ỲO͘U͏͘ ̡̢D̡A̶̷̢M͘N͡ ̢͟B͝A̡͡S̸TÀ̵R̴͞D, ̸̕͡I͢͢'̸͢LL̢ ̵͜K̀͠I̴̵̕

"That's enough."

A horrible pain in my chest, worse than any I'd felt before. A cracking sound, like splintering wood, and I was flying, flying across the room, right out the window, into the street. Cupajoe was over me, and he picked me up and slapped me. The hammer fell from my hand.

"Listen carefully," he snarled. "Master Dimolo said I needed to watch over you. He said nothing about me not breaking a few of your bones. Will you continue to threaten my comrade, or will you behave yourself?"

I couldn't have kept attacking even if I'd tried; Circles of blackness appeared around him, zipping toward my arms and legs and sliding up them, taking them into his space. The openings closed tightly around my limbs, and I knew if they snapped shut completely, they'd be cut off, lost to the void forever. I tried to keep it down, but a whimper crawled out of my throat. Damn him. Damn them all. Except for Dimolo, never him, never, I love him.

"I think he's been chastised enough, Cup," Peachy chuckled, emerging from the building. He looked around, but I couldn't see what he was seeing. "Cup, we've got some stares. Take care of them."

He grunted, and the voids slid down my arms and legs, dispersing into nothingness. He let me go, and was gone, a blur. I turned around, watched as a void opened up beneath a gaggle of thieves, watched as they fell into it, and for the opening to close again.

"You killed them," I muttered. "Damn it, I could have used them."

The general's left eye twitched. "I believe I've said this before, _Mister _Dareda. The space my Void-Void Fruit creates is lightless, but harmless. I'll dump them into your maze."

"Don't call me Mister," I growled, but rage had already lessened. What a relief; I needed more subjects. The ones I had died too fast. Fucking nobles, too posh and stupid to get past the first room…

"Also, Dareda, Outlook the Third and Stelly are here to see you again."

And just like that, the rage spiked, like a lion denied food when it was just within reach. "You talk to them."

"Outlook is here to see you in particular."

O̕h̶̢ ̶t̨́h͏̸̧e ̛th̡͞i̷͞n̶͟͡g̸̕ş̵͢ ̧͟I̛̕ c͠o̷̡͘ư̧͠ĺ̶d̷ d͜͠ò̧̨ ̸͡to a̸ ̢m̨àn̶̡ ̢̢l̶̢̀ik͜͠e͜͡ ̨́O̶͟ut͜l̛o̡ok.̸̨ But no matter; sometime we must do things we do not wish to do, and meet people we do not wish to meet. I'll kill him soon enough, but now I need to be calm. Maybe even cordial, if I can manage it.

They were waiting in the lobby, sitting patiently on my ragged couch. They looked the same as ever, Outlook in his stupid blue suit, its collar down to the stomach and adored with frilly yellow feathers and flowers, even on his big fucking stupid hat oh͠ ͜ẁ҉h͘y ̢͢c̵̵a͡n̷'̛͏͠t͟͢ ̀͜I̶̸͡ ̵̷k̡͜i̷͡l̕l̵͢ ͏t̶h̸̕is ̀́b̡͘a̛͟͝s͘͢͞taŗd?͟

"Is it true that your maze is ready?" Oh, damn you and your snooty voice and stupid, ugly mustache, your lumpy double-chin and small beady eyes, more a pig then a man, that's what you are.

"Sure thing," I say with a smile. "All those nobles you had me feed it made it big and strong. Wouldya like to see?"

His face twisted in disgust. "Not in the least. I merely came to see that things are proceeding as planned."

"That's right!" the son crowed, and oh, how I _hated _his orange bowl cut and fat greasy lips and stretched-out eye lids. The day I broke his nose would be a very good one indeed. "If you kill this last person, I get to be king!"

"A king you say?" I allowed my smile to grow a touch too wide, and his chubby little face turned white as a sheet. "Is that what this is all for? Ta be king of this trash heap?"

A hot pain exploded in my cheek; the damn noble had _slapped me_. The rage roared, demanding blood, but I couldn't give in. Not with Dimolo's promises on the line.

"Know your place," Outlook thundered. "Do not speak to my son that way!" He took an envelope from his coat, handing it to me. "My son will be king of the greatest realm to ever bless this miserable ocean. Just do your job and take care of this idiot."

Suppressing a snarl, I tear it open and pull out a picture. A fat man with a fat chin, even fatter lips then the would-be king before me, orange curls failed to cover an egg-shaped head. And he even had a little black mustache, making him even uglier. Hell, he looked more like Stelly's father then his actual father.

"His name is Ahho Desunen the Ninth," Outlook continued brusquely. "He is the advisor to King Isntoinette the Twentieth. If you…make him disappear, I'll be able to take his place, marry my dear son to the king's daughter. And, should he and _his_ son die, Stelly will be able to succeed them."

The smugness with which he laid out his vile plan almost broke me more then the slap. Say what you will about me, but nobles truly were the scum of the earth.

…what's this? I rubbed the photo, which became two. I pulled them apart, looking closely at the second. A little girl, horrifically ugly, head squashed and teeth uneven. I stared at her, uncomprehending.

"Ah, yes, I almost forgot." Outlook pulled a tube of lip balm from his coat, applying it lightly. "Kill his daughter too. She's a complication."

…

_**RA̵̴͜͢A̕̕͞A̴̸A̧͏̴͡͏A̢͜͟͠͏A͘A͡͏A̴̛͡A̷̧̡A̵̛͝Á̶҉́A͠͏Á̧̛A̵̵͞A͏͘҉͘A̶̛̕Ą̴̀͘G̡̨͢H̷͞!**_

I grabbed him by the throat so fast his hat flew off his head. He gasped and squawked, like a plump turkey. Stelly screamed.

"Listen carefully," I hissed, the rage seeping out with every word. "I am many things. A lover of blood and carnage. A maker of death and destruction. I've slaughtered _dozens _in the name of my art, my vision. And I'll gladly keep doing so, until the end of my days."

My grip grew tighter, cutting off his air. I brought him close, our noses almost touching.

"_But I don't kill children. _Get that through your pompous, slimy skull, before I bust it open and spill its contents on the floor, in front of your _dear _son."

I dropped him on his ass, and he crawled away like the worm he was. Holy shit, he'd wet his pants! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

"Bastard," he croaked. "You think you can contaminate me with your filthy hands and get away with it? You-"

"Am under Dimolo's protection," I sneered. "Hell, we're even on a first-name basis. Can you say the same?"

Outlook stood up, pale and trembling. "I…do not know why someone like Saint Brangolo would tolerate filth like you. But you'll regret this. Terribly!" He all but sprinted from the room, his son right on his heels. Wow, he'd spoiled himself too! What a day!

"That was inappropriate," Peachy intoned behind me.

"Give me a fucking break. They were asking me to-"

"I know what they were asking," the priest interrupted. "I'll make sure Zurako is protected in the days to come."

The coldness in his eyes; rage like mine, but frozen, icy, without mercy. I suddenly found myself liking him a lot more. "Zurako…is that her name?"

Peachy's eyebrows rose. "You didn't even know her name, yet you acted as you did? Perhaps you're not as heartless as I thought you to be."

"We all have standards," I laughed. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a group of petty thieves to torture."

.~===)==============={%}

"Master, do you really think Dareda can be trusted?

Dimolo sipped lightly from a glass of lemonade, studying the Red Port in all its bustling glory. Monstrous yellow bondolas rose from the city, traveling up thick black cords to the top of the Red Line. And toward the Holy City that crowned it.

"My dear Zuzy, the East Blue is a world away. Let us speak no more of it until the Reverie is concluded. I fear I'm already late."

She bowed respectfully and made to leave.

"That being said…" He took another sip. "I believe that _he_ will get the message. And he will be tested by what Dareda has constructed for him. Have the ship ready to leave tomorrow. I plan to return as quick as I can to meet with the Marked One personally."

"Only a day?" Zuzy exclaimed. "But the Reverie-"

"Is of no consequence; what I must do here, I can do in a day."

"…of course, master. I'll let the crew know." She ran across the deck, toward the sterncastle. Dimolo watched her go with a smile, before turning his gaze upward. He observed the Red Line, in all its majestic crimson glory, before look still higher, toward the brightly shining sun.

"The time as almost come," he whispered, a small smile creasing his lips. "Just a few more obstacles, and then…"

The sun's rays streamed through the sail, bathing him in their radiance. His glittering green eyes stared into the sky.

"I will become the world."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**And that, ladies and gentlemen, concludes the first half of Part 1 of Inkbolt, Eastern Hunting. I hope you've enjoyed the ride.**

**This chapter's conclusion also marks another milestone. For the first time in my life, I've reaching 100K words writing a story. It's a tremendous accomplishment, but not one I could have done alone. It's because of the encouraging words of my readership that I was able to get as far as I have. Your encouragement and enthusiasm only add to my own, and I thank you all from the bottom of my heart for your support.**

**Now that I've reaching my first big checkpoint in this story, I'd love to hear your feedback more than ever before, both good and bad. If there's something you love or hate, let me know, so I can fix it or make it even better. I'm always trying to improve, and getting your input helps a ton.**

**And if you think this story is worthy of recommendation, feel free to tell your friends about it. I can't wait to put the petal to the metal and continue this awesome story!**

**Have a great day everyone, and may your own stories continue in good health and happiness.**

**Yeomanaxel, the Verified Yeo**


	11. Goa Kingdom Arc Part 1

**Chapter 11 – The Most Beautiful**

Sweat trickled down Volta's nose, consolidating into a little drop that fell upon the deck. His neck and armpits were drenched, his forehead damp. More droplets cascaded down his face.

Most of it was from the blistering sun above them, beating down mercilessly upon the two hunters. But the heat alone did not account for the hammer of Volta's heart or the slight tremble in his hands. A smile was trying to form on his face, but he suppressed it with every ounce of his being.

"…call."

Zoro placed another chip on the pile between them. His last chip. "Alright, it's all or nothing now."

"How can you be so casual about that?!"

The swordsman raised an eyebrow. "Didn't know you cared so much about poker."

"I care about winning." Volta took a deep breath. There were no more chips left on his side either. "Who reveals first?"

Zoro frowned. "Hmm…I believe you do."

Volta slammed down his cards, an ace, king, queen, jack, and ten. Three hearts, two diamonds. All the tension dissolved in a heartbeat, and a satisfied smile spread across his face. "Finally. _Finally. _I w-"

"Hold it."

And in the span of _another_ heartbeat, the tension was back, worse them ever. Volta shook his head, lips flapping. "No. No no no no _no_, _you_ _can't beat this._"

Now it was Zoro's turn to smile. "Oh yes, I can. Behold!"

Ace, king, queen, jack, ten. All spades.

"NOOOOOO!" Volta collapsed on the deck, utterly defeated. "HOW?! I HAD A ROYAL FLUSH!"

"You had a straight," Zoro corrected. "They all have to be the same suit." He dumped all the chips onto his head, washing in his victory. "Want to go again?"

Volta did not. Six games were enough. He rolled over to the hat and warped into it, landing directly on the sofa. There was no relief; it was just as hot within as it was without. He reached under the table and pulled out a canteen, downing what was left. Even the water felt warm and unsatisfying.

"We're gonna die out here," he muttered. He watched the sun ripple and shift above him, like a fat snake made of fire. "We'll burn into little crispy men, and then some giant fish will eat us, to avenge all the brothers we're fried and drenched with tartar sauce."

"You're such a sore loser," Zoro laughed, resting on the couch across from him. "And it's not even that hot."

"Oi! You two!" A giant, angry face loomed over the hat. "I don't know where you get off manhandling the poker set I lent-"

"Don't get too close," Volta warned. Too late. A rather portly man crashed into their table. It shook but didn't buckle.

"I think the furniture is getting stronger," Zoro said.

Volta nodded. "I noticed that too. It's getting harder to cut the sofas."

"You bastards!" the unruly passenger cried. "Get out of your magic sack and clean up my chips!"

"This is clearly a hat," Zoro deadpanned.

"Though, I suppose you could mistake it for a cornucopia," Volta reasoned.

"Or a trumpet."

"Or a trombone."

"Trombones are a lot bigger."

"CLEAN UP MY FUCKING CHIPS ALREADY!"

Volta sighed. "Not with that attitude. Language!" He kicked the man in the stomach, sending him into the air and out of the hat.

"He can just come back in," Zoro muttered.

Volta smiled. "Not this time." He clapped his hands, and the square of blue sky above them disappeared. In its place now lay a ceiling the same color as the walls. A small, elegant chandelier hung from its center.

"Holy shit!" Zoro exclaimed. "Since when could it do that?"

"Since yesterday. I was trying to make a clapping sound with one hand. The trick is to hit your palm with your fingers." He demonstrated, and the ceiling vanished, revealing the angry man once more.

"YOU BASTARDS! YOU THINK YER BLACK TRUMPET'S GONNA SAVE-"

Zoro clapped his hands, and the rant was silenced. "This is one hell of an improvement. I can sleep in here when it rains now!"

"You can do that with the hat turned sideways."

"I don't like the sound of rain."

"Ah." Volta watched as the table shuffled back into position. Then he redirected his gaze at the wall. After a few seconds of concentration, a mirror appeared.

"The more we inhabit this place, the more it reacts to us," he wondered. "It has no will of its own, so the power is bent by the wills of others. I wonder if all inanimate Fruit Users are like this."

"I can't imagine there are many more," Zoro replied. He carefully rubbed Wado's blade, it's scabbard and hilt on the table. "I mean, how often is it that a book or a pen or…I don't know, a sword eats something?"

"Beats me. Maybe the eating process is cutting the Fruit or sitting next to it for too long."

Zoro shook his head. "Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous."

They sat in silence for some time. Eventually, the room grew stuffy, and Volta clapped away the ceiling. The angry poker lender did not make a reappearance.

Volta stroked his scuff. "I have a thought."

"A dangerous thing to have."

"Do you think Mihawk has a Devil Fruit?"

Zoro paused. He set the blade down, a look of consternation on his face. "…maybe. But I don't think so."

"Why not?"

"Devil Fruits are powerful. Albedya was practically untouchable in Beer Town, and that wind guy you met could probably whip up a tornado if he wanted to. A master swordsman with a power like that would be a true monster."

Volta nodded. "So why don't you think so?"

"Because a true swordsman doesn't _need _that power." Zoro swiped his rag across the blade, and it gleamed in the sunlight. "A true swordsman only needs their blade to overcome any opponent, no matter how fearsome. Devil Fruits sound dangerous, but they also sound like a crutch, a means of gaining incredible strength with no effort."

In three smooth, practiced motions, Zoro's white blade was whole again. He slid it back into its scabbard and rested it by his side. "A swordsman who does not count upon his sword is like a math teacher who can't count. An utter failure."

Volta stared. "Wow. That was _obscenely_ wise."

Zoro shrugged. "My sensei used to say it all the time. Come to think about it, he had a saying for pretty much everything."

"LAND AHOY!"

Volta jumped out of the hat, Zoro right behind him. The lookout spoke truly; the Goa Kingdom rose before them, in all its majestic glory.

.~===)==============={%}

Dawn Island is oft considered the most beautiful of the East Blue's locations, and certainly among the greenest. Thick forests envelope the land, submerging it in a dimly lit world of beasts and bandits. The trees rise over the mountains and down into the valleys, completely covering the island's west side and half of the east. What lies beyond that is a small stretch of grassland, peopled sparsely by a dozen coast-hugging villages.

Almost any noble within Goa's capital could speak at length of the fealty and allegiance the coastal towns owed their King, but in truth, those settlements predated the Kingdom by almost a century, holdovers from the third wave of colonization that swept across the East. The city was built with the arrival of Goa Orgueilleux, the third son of Goa Monstre. The original land from which he heralded from remains a mystery, but its culture and traditions demanded the villages' subjugation.

Foosha, Fenlin, and Futhluck folded immediately, but the other ten refused, prompting what became known as the War of the Dawn, a conflict that lasted roughly ten days. Each dawn signaled the fall of another village until only Fogo remained. Unlike the others, it refused all negotiations and was burned to the ground, its people put to the sword. A blackened patch was all that remained of the once spirited town, and it was never rebuilt.

Volta knew none of this as he and Zoro entered the harbor, but if he had, he would have drawn a comparison to the sickly land to the right of the eastern wall. Men scuttled across the ground, hacking away at tangled weeds, plowing parts of it and leave others to the forest. It was a convoluted attempt at farming, like spraying perfume onto a corpse, hoping it would keep the rot at bay.

"Volta,"

He turned. Zoro had a dark look on his face. "Do you remember what Westen said?"

"_And then…eight years ago…__**they burned it all down!"**_

"Yeah, I remember."

Zoro grimaced. "This is a bad place. A sick place."

Volta nodded. If he looked straight ahead, all he saw before him was wealth and majesty, gold-lined buildings and pristine streets. But the knot in his stomach spoke of other things. A thickness in the air, coupled with an ashen smell. Smiles a touch too wide, identically smeared upon the dockhands.

And above all the ghastly guards, faces concealed behind black gasmasks, dressed in faded greens and browns, rifles hoisted over their shoulders. They stared soundlessly as the passenger ship sailed past, the lenses of their masks reflecting the sunlight into Volta's eyes. He looked away.

"Do you think Dareda is still here?"

"It has been a week," Zoro mused. "But I don't think so. He wouldn't have sent that message if he meant to leave so quickly. He's attracting hunters here."

"Unless it's all a trick," Volta considered. "And he's halfway across the East by now, the message buying him time to plot new murders. That's what I would do."

"Maybe," Zoro replied. "But I'm not so sure. I suppose we'll have to find out, one way or the other."

The anchor and the gangplank dropped together, and dozens of passengers poured down it, dispersing into the vast labyrinth of color before them. Zoro and Volta descended last and had barely gotten off the plank when they were approached.

The first things Volta noticed about him were his hair and his smile. The former had been formed into an impressive blonde pompadour, trailing off into several yellow spikes that flanked the backside of his neck. His teeth flashed arrogantly, but even with a nail-studded bat over his shoulder, Volta detected no hostility.

"Well, well, well, looks like we got a couple of new slabs."

Zoro blinked. "Slabs."

The blonde man scowled. "Yeah man, _slab. _Like, slabs of meat. You guys are fresh meat."

Volta felt his eyebrow raise. "Then why didn't you just say that?"

"Don't get sassy with me, you slabs!" the blond man hissed. "Just for that, I'm gonna name you slab one, and slab two. No, even better, moldy slab and…uh…bewitched slab! Cuz of the hat!"

"How did you know we would be getting off here?" Zoro asked, willfully ignorant of the insults.

The smug smile returned "I didn't. Been watchin the ships, on orders from the boss. I'ma hunter, just like you two. Don't deny it, I can see it in your eyes. Boss has been gathering all the hunters together."

"That's good," Volta said. "We should all be united on this."

The blonde man snorted. "That's what the boss says. Between you and me though, I don't like it. More people mean less money, and this Dareda guy ain't worth the big bil if you know what I mean."

Zoro laughed. "I like your ambition, but no one in the East is worth a billion. If there's thirteen of us, we each get a mil, right? That's not a bad haul."

The blonde man's smile became a scowl again; he seemed capable of only those two expressions. "If _you _think that's not bad, then you ain't seen shit on this sea. But whatevs, if the boss wants unity, he'll get it. I respect the boss, is what I do. Come on, we're burnin daylight here."

He swaggered off, Zoro and Volta right behind him. A guard watched them pass, his mask hiding the narrowing of his eyes.

.~===)==============={%}

The city seemed to grow grander with every corner turn, and the people grander with it. Many wore simple suits and dresses, shirts and pants of fine quality but unremarkable design. But many displayed more extravagant tastes.

Volta counted ten fur-lined coats, one of which looked like it had been made from a bear. A man walked past, dressed in a bright yellow suit, his top hat filled with feathers. Another sported a flowing robe, striped like a rainbow. And everywhere he saw perukes, the white powdered wigs of his own seventeen century.

The nobles noticed them just as much, unfortunately, were quick to show their disgust for the three supposed hooligans in their streets. Volta couldn't blame them; he and Zoro were sweat soaked and weary, and wearing the same ragged gray clothing they had entered Cozia in. _We'll change out when we have a chance to get clean again, _Zoro had said, but between the rush to the coast and the uncomfortable journey on the ship, that chance had never come.

The citizens cringed back, making way for them. Volta felt like cringing himself; he hated drawing so much attention.

"Oi," Zoro called. "Where are we going, spiky bat man?"

The blonde man whirled around. "My name's Kibatto," he scowled. "But I guess the fault's mine, I never introduced myself. I'm Supai Kibatto, the Hard-Hitting Bounty Hunter. And we're almost there, so no more chatter."

They soon reached their destination, a luxurious five-story building adorned with a Japanese roof. A large sign near the top proclaimed the establishment FINE DINING EIICHIRO. Volta almost laughed. It was the same name as the author!

The inner lobby was just as nice, but Volta didn't have time to take it in. A portly man in itamae wear approached them, sporting a graying mustache and a nervous smile. "More hunters, Mister Supai?"

"That's right! Take us to the VIP room, fatty!"

The manager's left eye twitched, but his smile never faltered. "Come right this way."

The VIP room was on the fourth floor; according to the manager, the fifth was reserved for the royal family. "I bet they eat here all the time," Volta noted.

"Oh no," the manager smiled. "We haven't had a visit from them for close to a decade now. But all restaurants require a floor for the family here in Goa."

The door to the VIP room was to their left, crimson and gilded. A crash sounded from the other side, followed by an angry screech.

"Oh no," the manager groaned. "They're at it again."

Kibatto laughed.

"Who's at what again?" Volta asked, not sure if he wanted the answer.

"Let me just…get them to settle down." The manager crept up to the door. "Ahem, excuse-"

_CRACK!_

The door leapt off its hinges and slammed into the manager, both of which went sailing down the hall. "NOT AGAAAaaaaaiiinnn…"

"Serves you right, ya chubby bastard!" Another man entered the hall; red dragon tattoos coiled around his arms, and a single spike of orange hair adorned his head. He glared at them. "Oi, you guys, the newbies?!"

Zoro frowned, ready to argue. "Relatively," Volta interjected. "We're here for Dareda, same as you guys."

The man with the dragons punched him in the stomach. It was so unexpected that he had no time to defend, and now _he_ was sailing down the hall, right after the manager and his door. Gritting his teeth, he twisted in mid-air and landed on his feet, skid over the carpet.

He looked up just in time to see the dragon man right in front if him, launching a roundhouse kick to his face. Votla dodged and punched low, nailing dragon man in his own stomach. He flew backwards a few feet.

"That all you got?!" he bellowed. "My grandma can punch harder than you!"

Volta smirked. "Just be glad you aren't fighting _my _grandma. She would have punched a hole through you."

"HOW DARE YOU INSULT MY GRANDMA!"

"What? I didn't say anything about-"

"KYYYAAA!" The dragon man moved like the wind, and Volta barely got his arms up before a flurry of blows rained down on him. Chest, face, arms, shoulders, it made no difference to the dragon man. He had become a force of destructive power, an offensive maelstrom.

Volta blocked as many as he could, but a few slipped through, knocking him further back. With a growl, he jumped over the punches and kicked the dragon man right in the face. Then he crouched low and swept out his feet. He only had a moment to look confused before Volta planted his heels into his stomach, smashing him into the floor with so much force it cracked the tiles, turning the carpet into tatters.

"Enough."

Something cold and sharp pressed into Volta's throat. He turned slowly and found himself on the wrong end of a massive katana. Its wielder was even taller than dragon man, his frame swollen with well-developed muscles that stretched against a faded blue shirt. A spiked collar adorned his neck, and his black messy hair was restrained by a white bandana. His broad face showed no emotion, but the look in his deep-set eyes was one of annoyance.

"I don't want no broken bones or ruptured organs. You can only fix one of those with milk." His voice was deep, a badass baritone if ever there was one, and immediately Volta knew who led this strange band of hunters.

He backed up. "He started it."

"He always starts it," bandana man sighed. He stabbed his sword into the ground. "But that's because I told him to. Name's Hasher. Slan Hasher. But you can call me Slasher; everyone else does." He grinned at that. Volta held out his hand, and he shook it good-naturedly. Even so, Volta hid a wince. His grip was like iron.

"Sorry about Drogon," Slasher apologized. "He's a nasty little punk, but he's not bad in a fight. Plus, he's potty-trained, so you don't have to worry about that."

"FUCK YOU!"

"Pleased to meet you Drogon," Volta lied. Drogon… the name felt familiar on his lips, and it tickled the back of his brain. Had he heard it before?

"Listen, you punk!" Drogon roared, leaping to his feet. "I was just testing you! We can't have any weaklings for this mission!"

Slasher thumped him. "Enough," he growled. "I'm sick to death of your 'testing.' You've already scared off three hunters and put another in the hospital. Lest I remind you how serious a threat Dareda has become? _Again?_"

Under the cold gaze of his leader, Drogon's rage withered. Volta could see it in his posture. "Whatevs. He passed the test, in any case." He stuck out a hand, and Volta shook it lightly.

"Both of you, into the lounge," Slasher ordered. "I'm in no mood for any more nonsense." He pulled out his sword and strode back to his companions. He jerked his thumb forward when he passed Zoro, the message clear.

The lounge was an elaborate place, full of odd trinkets and displays of slanted granite. A crystal ball sat embedded in one of them, though Volta doubted it did much but give the room a bit of character.

Not that it needed it, because the real characters lay behind the huge round table in the center of the room, right under a glass chandelier.

The remaining two hunters gave Volta pause, striking him with a moment of extrospection. This world had become his reality, and reality was endlessly complex. Every person walking the streets below him had their own hopes and dreams, their own goals and ambitions, lives full of friends, family, success, failure, love, hate, and desire.

But this world was also a story, and in stories, a person's appearance signified their importance. Thousands of citizens walked the streets, but underneath all that finery lay plain faces and normal hair colors, proper size proportions, and modest attractiveness.

The two hunters before him were the exact opposite of that. One was a young woman with a near perfect hourglass figure, dressed in a green tank top and legless jeans. Her light blue cyan hair cascaded to just beneath her shoulders, though it took a moment for Volta to judge the length, as it swayed crazily with every bob of her head. She was too busy stuffing her face to give him any attention, hands darting greedily around the many dishes that covered the table.

The other hunter proved far less oblivious. "Welcome newbies!" he greeted, in a thin nasally voice. It was the only thin thing about him. His body was practically a ball with arms, supported by short stocky legs that Volta was certain would give out beneath him. He wore an open purple jacket, though on him it seemed more an ill-fitting cape, held together by a thick golden chain. His nose was so inflamed it practically _glowed _red, and his poufy brown afro had been tied tightly in the back, displaying a sharp widow's peak.

He gave Volta and Zoro a fleshy grin, his cheeks giggling with the movement. "I'm Pogo! Pleased ta meetcha!"

They shook hands and took their seats. The rest of the hunters slipped in, Drogon giving Volta a death glare as he sat down.

"Buki, will you please stop eating?" Slasher groaned. "We're about to begin the meeting."

Kibatto blinked. "Really? Right now, right here? We've only got two slabs!"

"Two will have to do," Slasher replied tiredly. "None of the others passed Drogon's test."

Buki swallowed. "Alright, let's…wait, who are these guys?"

Slasher facepalmed. "You weren't paying attention. Again."

Volta introduced himself. "My name's Damian Volta. My partner's name is-"

Buki whipped out a pistol.

"OH SH-"

_BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG!_

Volta dodged in the nick of time, three bullets tearing through the back of his chair. Zoro did the same, one of them missing his ear by millimeters.

"KIIIHAHAHAHA!"

"BUKI!" Slash reached across the table and knocked her gun away. "What have I told you about randomly shooting people?!"

"I was just testing their reflexes," she said with a smirk.

"Hey, I already tested these punks!" Drogon snarled. "There can only be one tester on this team!"

"Really?" She put her hands on her cheeks in mock surprise. "You never told me about any tests."

"Of course I didn't!" Drogon roared. "Cuz I'm the tester! Not you! AND STOP LAUGHING KIBATTO!"

The pompadour-sporting hunter collapsed out of his chair. Slasher put his head in his hands, and while Volta's ears were ringing, he could have sworn he heard the man sob.

Pogo waved his hands. "Alright folks, let's all calm down. Buki, Drogon, you've done your tests. These guys good?"

They glared at him. Then they glared at Zoro, who looked more bewildered then anything. Then they glared at Volta.

"Well, they dodged my bullets, so sure!"

"You bastards better not die on us."

Slasher slammed his fist into the table. "Alright, listen up you meatheads! We've got ourselves a nasty piece of work to catch, so sit straight, cease your chatter, and stop trying to kill each other!"

When the room quieted, he pulled a bounty poster out of his shirt. No one needed to see the picture to know whose poster it was. He moved an empty platter aside and placed the poster in the center of the table.

"Dareda. No family name, no epithet. He's killed over a dozen people with spikes, nails, and hammers, and he's somewhere in this city."

"We came running as soon as we saw the paper," Zoro explained. "It took us a while; we were in Cozia."

"I heard that Dick and Billy finally got caught there," Pogo mentioned. "Did you guys have a hand in that?"

"Us and two others, named Johnny and Yosaku," Volta replied. "But we went out separate ways. Were they among the hunters you scared off, Drogon?"

"Beats me," he sneered. "I'm shit with names. What they look like?"

"One had a mohawk-"

"BWAHAHAHAHAHA! Those two?! Woah, chill guys, I didn't rough em up too bad."

Zoro glared. "I would hope not. They're our friends."

Drogon smiled. "They were all talk, those two. A couple of paper-mâche scarecrows if you ask me!"

"They weren't very strong," Slasher admitted. "So, we sent them off."

"And what gives you the right to do that?" Zoro asked, a bit heatedly. "I've never heard of any of you before."

"Infamy isn't our style," Buki purred, her pistol twirling around her fingers. "We like to keep a low profile, so we go after bottom-feeders more often than not. Doesn't mean we ain't strong though."

"And strength is what we need," Slasher continued. "Because Dareda is a monster. He's butchered every hunter that's come after him. Including Harry, the Heavy Fist."

Zoro's eyes widened. "Harry's dead?"

Pogo nodded sadly. "While we and you guys were sailing here, Harry reached Goa first. He disappeared on the day he arrived, and his body turned up on the morrow."

Slasher leaned in, his voice tight. "He wasn't nailed. He was flayed."

The look of horror on Zoro's face was terrible to behold. Volta felt bile in the back of his throat.

"Madness," he muttered. "And why the hell aren't the Marines here? They should be in every street, searching every home and store, rooting through the sewers, uprooting this whole damn _city_ to try and find this murderer!"

"The Marines aren't touching this one," Slasher growled. "Not because they don't want to, but because Goa won't let them. Marines haven't been allowed to set foot on the island since the visit of Saint Jalmack five years ago."

Volta frowned. "Who's Jalmack?"

"Only one of the most powerful peeps on the planet," Kibatto explained. "Do you know who the World Nobles are?"

Volta shook his head. "I'm from an isolated part of the East. We don't get out much. At all really."

"You did," Buki giggled.

_BANG!_

"Dammit Buki, put that thing away!" Dragon snatched her pistol, flinging it across the room.

_BANG!_

The crystal ball to the left shattered, shards flying everywhere.

"Oh, for Neptune's sake," Slasher moaned. "Can we please stop trashing this room?"

The crystal chandelier chose that moment to groan ominously. Pogo eyed it with palpable concern.

"The white hats ain't gonna back us up this time," Drogon scowled. "We're on our own. And we didn't wanna repeat of poor Harry, so we're scaring away any hunters that can't keep up with me."

Zoro nodded solemnly. "I met Harry once; he had a good heart, but I beat him black and blue when we sparred. Thanks for keeping Johnny and Yosaku out of this."

Drogon shrugged. "It's what's gotta be done."

"But you two could make a difference," Slasher said. "I have no doubt of your power, Roronoa, and your friend has proven himself as well. You two and our team will be more than adequate, I think."

Volta narrowed his eyes; he heard not a small about of uncertainty in his deep voice. He eyed the others. Drogon's scowl had only deepened, and Kibatto picked at his food. Pogo kept glancing upward, and Buki, fingers restless, tapped the table.

They were scared, he realized; none of them have ever gone up against a monster like Dareda before. Even Slasher was scared. And they were still here, on this island, unwilling to let him continue his depredations. He felt a surge of respect for them all, and one look at Zoro was enough to tell him he felt the same way.

He sat up straighter, picked up an egg roll, and wolfed it down. A bowl of fried rice followed, as well as a glass of water.

Slasher smirked. "Hungry?"

Volta swallowed. "I find that a good meal helps get my wheels turning. We need a plan. Do you already have one?"

"I do." Slasher reached under the table and pulled up a large, rolled-up piece of paper. He slammed it on the table, unrolling it to reveal an intricate grid of red and white lines. "This is a map of the sewers," he explained. "I'm almost certain Dareda is hiding somewhere within them."

"Why the sewers specifically?" Zoro asked. "He could be hiding on the edge, near the wall."

"He could," Buki agreed. "It's a bit rougher there, full of gangs and thieves. He'd blend right in."

"But Dareda has definitely been using the sewers," Pogo said. "Because it's not just hunters he's been killing."

"Seven nobles have vanished," Slasher stated. "The disappearances began several weeks before Dareda made his grisly message, so he's the logical culprit."

"Nobles?" Zoro furrowed his brow. "And seven of them? That doesn't sound like his style. He was always much more random then that."

"It's a strange change of pace," Kibatto agreed. "But the timings of the disappearances got no pattern. So, we can't predict him."

Volta stroked his chin, his eyes locked onto Dareda's stony expression. The poster stared back at him, its own eyes flat and lifeless; but far from expressionless. A vile intelligence lay behind them, Volta had no doubt about that. But to what ends had that intelligence been used for?

"What do we know about Dareda?" he asked. "We don't have a family name, but do we have anything else to go off of? Any clues as to where he came from, what he used to do?"

Slasher poured a glass of wine for himself. "Well, the doctors who did the autopsies agree that he's knowledgeable about the human body. Anyone can hammer a nail into someone, but his were always symmetrically placed. What's more, the nails were never found to have impaled the nervous or circulatory systems."

"How is that even possible?" Volta questioned. "Didn't his victims die specifically because of the nails? They would have been frantically trying to get away or fighting back. In other words, _moving_. To get such precise impalements, he'd have to get on top of them to hold them down."

"But the victims were always nailed to walls," Zoro mused. "Not the ground. Could it be that he's drugging them beforehand?"

"That's what we thought," Kibatto said. "But no traces of nothing were found during the autopsies. And none of the victims had head wounds either, so he ain't knocking them out."

"Here's some more pictures." Pogo scattered them across the table, each displaying one of Dareda's grisly kills. Volta picked one up, noting the fatness of the victim, the expensive suit he wore. Wait, was that…it was hard to make out, but a small white object was in his coat pocket. It had a think neck and a swollen, pointy head. Volta squinted.

"Is that…a fork?"

Pogo snapped his fingers. "Correctamungo! That's Rib Jugout, a famous food critic. He always carried utensils on him. I'm surprised Dared didn't stab him with it."

"Yes…strange."

The picture was terribly fuzzy. All the photos Volta had seen in this world were, at least a little. Clearly, camera technology hadn't come very far yet. He wondered if this was how cops in the twentieth century felt, struggling to parse clues from poor images in a murder case.

Volta felt it up to the light. The spikes were clear as day, as was the bloody running down the impaled arms and stomach. But something else stuck out to the hunter, as he stared harder at the wall behind the corpse. Little dots outlined the crucified body, pinpricks of fuzzy darkness on a red brick wall. Around the arms, the chest, the legs, even the crotch, though thankfully no nails had gone through _that._

"Have you guys noticed these dots yet?"

"We have," Slasher said. "And they're not dots, but holes."

"Holes?" For an instant, Volta was struck by a powerful image. He saw the picture as a puzzle, a piece missing in its middle. A hole, just like the ones around the body. Volta touched the spot, and the piece appeared on his fingertip.

He grinned. "I think I figured it out. How he's been able to get such precise stabs. He's using a cast."

Buki blinked, her nails clicking faster on the table. "A what?"

Volta could feel his blood pumping. His grin grew wider; solving the mystery had given him a much-needed adrenaline kick. "Do any of you know what an iron maiden is?" He didn't wait for a response, flipping the picture over and holding his finger over it. Ink crept down his hand, slithering off his nail and onto the blank square.

Buki yelped, and Pogo nearly fell out of his seat. Drogon and Kibatto stared slack jawed. But Slasher?

"Meehahahaha, see guys?" he laughed. "I _told _you Devil Fruits were real."

Volta didn't bother to correct him, focusing intently on his ink. It writhed and wormed, forming the outline of a cylinder. Three drops of ink broke off and formed a little face.

"You're getting better," Zoro complimented.

"Thanks. Everyone, an iron maiden is a torture chamber, designed to impale people." He waved his finger, and spikes of blackness popped out of the outline. "The chamber opens up, people are thrown inside, and when it closes…"

"Game over," Kibatto muttered. "You're cheesed. _Swiss _cheesed."

"And you think Dareda is using an iron maiden…on the walls?" Slasher scratched his head. "I'm afraid I don't follow."

"I think Dareda _is_ strong enough to hold a person down," Volta explained. "But in order to get the impalements he wants, he needs his victim immobilized while he holds the hammer and nail. So, I believe he's using, not specifically an iron maiden, but spiked casts that he can stab into the wall, trapping the arms and legs. These casts have holes in them right above where Dareda wants to impale someone, and when he's done, he yanks the casts out and runs away."

"Sounds convoluted," Drogon argued. "Why'd a guy as brutal as Nail-Head want to impale someone so precisely in the first place?"

"Because Dareda isn't just a violent killer," Pogo spoke up. "He's an artist…at least, _he _thinks he is. Stabbing people in parts of their bodies that define them, like this food critic in his stomach, is a part of his 'message'…while taking care not to damage the body too much as he impales it could be some sort of stylistic or technical aspect of his 'art.' Just a theory, of course."

He could be the princess of candy island for all I care," Slasher rumbled. "So long as he's killing people, I won't rest until he's behind bars. Or dead at my feet." He fingered his sword hilt, which Zoro eyed wearily. He had a pretty good idea of which option the hunter preferred.

"You know, for a slab, that theory ain't half bad," Kibatto declared. "Some of the victims had some chafing going on up here…." He pointed to his arm. "And down _here._" He raised his leg. "The white hats didn't think it was related, but if their limbs were stuck in a buncha metal sleeves or something, then that would explain it."

Drogon slammed his fist into the table, and several more plates clattered to the floor. "I'm sick of theories, and I'm sick of this room! We gonna go out and search around soon?!"

"Oh, we will," Slasher assured. "But Volta's theory, strange as it is, would explain quite a bit about this case. And furthermore, if it _is _true, then we can make a good deduction of Dareda's past occupation."

Volta nodded, impressed by the big hunter's articulateness. "At this point, I'm thinking a builder of some kind, or a blacksmith. A doctor wouldn't need giant, industrial nails for his work, and unless he's getting them on the black market, he wouldn't be able to buy them without being identified."

Of course, that was how it was in the past. Before the Varnishing, when cameras were everywhere, and the net uncovered every secret. Did the average joe even glance at the bounty posters in this world?

"I still don't understand why we need to know Nail-Head's life story," Drogon muttered. "Who cares what kind of job he had before he went psycho?"

"Because if he's a builder," Zoro answered. "Then he may have built himself a little bunker under the city, or traps to keep people away. How long have you guys been here?"

"Four days," Slasher replied. "We spent that time searching the streets and gathering other hunters. Or trying to, at least."

He stood up and planted his hands on the sides of the table. Volta shivered; he could feel a barely restrained ferocity in his countenance. Zoro must have felt it too, his left hand clutched tightly around Wado's hilt.

"It's time for us to move out," he stated. "The sewers are our best bet. Even if we don't find him, we could find more clues to his whereabouts. It's time for this bastard to get his dues."

"Here here!" Kibatto crowed. He leapt to his feet, sending a bottle of wine over the side. "Let's _nail_ this fucker, pun intended!"

They all laughed at that, even Drogon.

"Do you have torches?" Volta asked. "Sewers aren't exactly the most illuminated of places."

"All of our gear is under the table," Slasher said.

Volta looked under the table. "…why do you guys have a gatling gun?"

"You never know when you might need one," Pogo said with a shrug.

Slasher finished his wine. "As soon as we're done eating, we'll be off."

"What about bathroom breaks?"

"Yes, there will be bathroom breaks," Slasher sighed. "I'm not making _that_ mistake again."

Zoro frowned. "How would-"

"We were climbing a mountain," Buki explained. "And halfway up Drogon couldn't hold it in anymore, so he peed on a goat."

"Now wait just a damn minute!" the martial artist thundered. "It wasn't on purpose!"

"So you admit it?"

Drogon turned as red as his tattoos. "I…no, I…ah, fuck it, sure I admit it. I peed on the goat." His scowl turned into a sinister smile. "And then I kicked it off the mountain."

"Why do you try to make yourself sound like an asshole?" Kibatto grinned. "He cried about it, then tried to apologize to the goat as it ran away."

"MOTHERFUCKER!" Drogon leapt across the table and tackled the bat wielder, and the two wrestled on the ground.

Buki slammed her fists into the table. "Ki-batto, Ki-batto, Ki-batto!"

Pogo followed suit, willing to bet on the underdog. "Dro-gon, Dro-gon, Dro-gon!"

Slasher's put his head in his hands again. "Oh, Neptune…why have you cursed me so?"

Zoro chuckled. "I like these guys."

"I do too." Volta leaned in close, keeping his voice to a whisper. "We need to protect them at all costs."

Zoro nodded. "Got it."

.~===)==============={%}

After the last plate had been cleared, Volta and Zoro retreated to one of the bathrooms and cleaned themselves up, finally donning their usual attire for the first time in weeks. Volta smiled as he felt the comforting touch of the longcoat upon his shoulders, and he pricked himself on one of the spikes, to make sure they hadn't lost their sharpness.

"Should we tell them about the hat?" he asked, as he fastened his rapier to his belt.

"Not yet," Zoro replied, tucking his own blades underneath his haramaki. "I think we've already overloaded them on weirdness, what with your 'Devil Fruit.' Pogo especially looks like he's in heart attack territory, let's not push him over the edge."

The reaction to Volta's style was…interesting.

"Holy christmas balls," Drogon gaped. "You've got shittier tastes then my kid brother, and he wears a vampire cape everywhere he goes!"

"It's definitely…unique," Buki said sweetly. "I can give you some tips to simplify it."

"I like it as is!" Kibatto cackled. "No one will take us seriously with you around. We'll be like hard boiled eggs amongst wolves, but _surprise, _we've got chicks in us!"

Dead. Silence.

Kibatto smiled frigidly. "…you know what, maybe I should practice my metaphors."

"Best fuckin idea you've had all day," Drogon smirked.

"Agreed."

"Yup."

"I couldn't have said it better."

"Why would we be eggs?"

"Can I go to the bathroom?"

The seven hunters left the room a mess, but a hefty bag of cash quieted any complaints. Volta felt a bit guilty, even though he and Slasher had tried to straighten things out. Nothing to be done about the carpet and crystal ball, unfortunately.

"Hey, at least the chandelier didn't fall down!" Pogo exclaimed with a smile.

He was still smiling when a thunderous crashed sounded above them. And he was _still _smiling as the seven of them ran down the street and through several alleys, an army of itamaes chefs hot on their heels.

After losing him near the edge of downtown, the group took a different street back toward the center, making a beeline for the inner wall surround High Town and the royal palace. The gate was wrought with gold, gems encrusting every inch of its surface. Volta recognized rubies, sapphires, emeralds, and quartzes.

"Damn nobles," Drogon sneered. "No sense of aesthetics at all. None of these gems look good together."

"I agree," Volta said. He noticed a particularly bright gem gleaming from the center of the gate, colored a shade of green so pure it looked like glass. "Hm, never seen one like that before."

"It's called peridot," Drogon grunted. "A silicate mineral, rich in magnesium. A pure form of olivine, I think."

"…"

"Don't look at me like that!" the punk snarled. "My mom was a gemologist, I picked up some shit! I'm probably wrong anyway!"

"Drogon? Wrong about gems?" Kibatto chuckled. "You slabs are witnessing the tip of the iceberg. Take this guy to a jeweler, and he lights up like a kid in a candy store."

"You want me ta knock out a few more of your molars?" Drogon growled. He gave Volta a withering glare. "Fine, I like gems. But you better not go around spreading that shit. Everyone's got their own weird secret hobbies, but so far as this ocean knows, I'm a face-bashing, head-punting, bone-breaking _nightmare_. And don't you forget it."

"He's also a very talented wedding planner," Slasher grinned. "Got it from his dad."

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Drogon screeched, his face burning. "I'll tear you all to pieces!"

"But if you tear me to pieces, how will you plan _my _wedding!" Buki cooed. "You promised!"

"Yeah," Pogo snickered. "You promised to plan my wedding too!"

"You're already married," Drogon sneered. "To the bun-buns you're always stuffing in your face! Go to hell for your honeymoon!"

"Yoyoyoyo!" the rotund hunter laughed. "Yer not wrong! In fact, I think I'll have one right now!" He reached into his duffel bag and pulled out a big pink box. "Come to papa, my little NOOOOO, WHERE'S THE LAST ONE!"

Slasher burped. "Excuse me. Look alive everyone, we're here."

They had passed several stately manors during their walk through High Town, but the one before them was the most impressive yet. A bright red structure topped with several towers, even in the limited space of the inner wall it looked monstrous, surrounded by stately walls and lush gardens.

"This is the home of Ahho Desunen IX, advisor to the king of Goa." Slasher held up a picture of a thick-lipped man, his thin orange hair curled to resemble the powdered wigs Volta kept seeing.

"He was the latest noble to disappear. But unlike the others, he vanished without leaving High Town." Slasher looked downward, toward a gilded manhole cover just outside the front gate. "I believe Dareda slipped in through here, crept into the castle, kidnapped Desunen, and took him underground."

"Would he even fit?" Buki snickered.

"With Dareda's strength, I have no doubt." Slasher unsheathed his sword, the fierce look back in his eyes. "We're going in. Pogo, do we have everything?"

"I've got the torches, ropes, and snacks," he replied. "As well as my gun. And the handcuffs of course."

"Good." Slasher turned to the others. "This capture mission requires stealth and surprise. The first noble disappeared a little over three weeks ago. That means Dareda's been here for a month, if not longer. And he's had time to prepare. That's why he got Harry."

He clenched his fist. "But he won't get us. No matter how strong he is, it's one against seven. We're gonna take this bastard in…or die trying." He bent down, slipped his fingers through several holes around the cover's edge, and lifted it up.

Volta stared down. Darkness stared back. The abyss, in all its Nietzschean glory.

He unsheathed Blitzeinschlag. "I'm going first."

.~===)==============={%}

The most beautiful sewers in the East. That was the first thought that popped into Volta's head, as he entered the dark, cavernous space. The second was even more disconcerting; it smelled _nice _in here.

The explanation soon presented itself; dozens of small pink slugs slid up and down the walls, leaving bright trails of reddish slime. A lean and a whiff confirmed the perfume-like smell was coming from it.

"Well, I'll be," Slasher marveled. "Maybe this kingdom's reputation isn't exaggerated after all."

"I've heard of these before!" Pogo exclaimed. "They're Scent Slugs, a distant cousin of the Transponder Snail species. They consume trash and waste, producing the sweet-smelling slime that gives them their names. I didn't think they were very practical for freshening up a house, but this is the perfect place for them."

Volta rubbed one with his knuckle. Slimy to the touch, but not unpleasant. Though at close distances the smell was a bit cloying.

Zoro stabbed one. It slid halfway down his blade before he waved it off, leaving slime all over Wado's steel. "Shit!" He wiped it off with a napkin, which he promptly tossed into the river of waste flowing through the middle of the ground. Within moments, dozens of slugs emerged from the depths, all clamoring for a bite of the soiled napkin. The cluster of creatures floated downstream, turned a corner, and went out of sight.

"…I've seen stranger," Zoro chuckled. "Remember that Chickantazor we fought?"

"That wasn't too long ago."

"You guys fought a Chickantazor and walked away?!" Buki's eyes grew wide. "I've been to the Tamago Kingdom a few times, and I've heard the stories. What did you guys do?"

"Well, it wasn't just us two," Volta said. "We had help from a guy named Walkaway. He-"

"_WALKAWAY?!"_

When Volta was still in training, he would often read an English dictionary during what little free time he had. He loved saying the strange-sounding words to himself, and one that stood out to him was

PAROXYSM: _noun, a sudden attack of violent expression of a particular emotion or activity. Ex. "a paroxysm of weeping" _

The word instantly sprung to mind, as an intense outpouring of rage filled the sewer. One emanating from a very pissed-off gunslinger.

"Oooh boy," Slasher sighed. "You've done it now."

"We try _really _hard not to say the W word around here," Pogo squeaked. "Because if it is-"

"Relax," Buki intoned. "I'm not gonna shoot up the place. _This _time."

"Glad to hear it," Pogo gulped.

Volta pursed his lips. Should he ask? Or should he leave it alone? Definitely better to leave it alone, that shouldn't have even been a question for himself.

"Did you two used to date or something?" Zoro asked.

_Scheiße!_

Buki's eye twitched so hard her pupil dilated. "No, at all. I'm only the idiot that _trained _the bastard!"

"Really?" Well, no use leaving it alone now. "I thought his father trained him."

She laughed. "To shoot. I was training him to _fight! _At least, I _was_, until he decided to literally walk out on our rela…our master student bond!"

"Well, it _is _his namesake," Zoro smirked.

"We're losing daylight," Slasher cut in. "Perhaps we could save the idle chatter for later?"

Buki spat into the river. "Fine by me. No usedredging up _that _lowlife." She stalked down the side of the tunnel, careful to step over the slime crisscrossing the ground.

Kibatto crept up to Volta and whispered in his ear. "They totally used to date."

"Ah. Well, I'll punch him in the face for her, next time I see him."

Kibatto grinned. "I think she would like that."

The seven hunters continued down the tunnel, eventually lining up into the formation Slasher had planned out. He led the way, a torch in one hand and his sword in the other. Pogo was right behind him, directing the group with the map, while Buki kept pace with him, gun ready to fire into the darkness. Volta and Zoro were in the middle, swords an inch out of their scabbards, while Kibatto and Drogon watched their back, the former also holding a torch.

"Maybe it's just me," Volta began. "But shouldn't we have brought lanterns instead of torches. The open flames could ignite noxious fumes."

"That is a possibility," Slasher admitted. "But we couldn't find any for sale when we made our purchases."

"I don't think it matters," Drogon suddenly said.

Slasher turned around. "What do you mean?"

"Look." The martial artist pointed forward, into the darkness. Only, now that Volta looked more closely, it didn't seem as dark as it had been. In fact, soft light was emanating from a curve in the tunnel.

Slasher lifted his sword. "Careful everyone. It could be trouble." He moved forward slowly, blade close to his chest, ready to defend against projectiles. Volta had seen Zoro deflect things with his blade before, though not always successfully. A skill in process, his friend had called it.

They turned the corner, and Buki gasped. The sources of light were the slugs, as well as their slime trails. While the slugs they had seen before had no illuminance at all, these shone brightly, bathing the sewer in an eerie red glow. Even Zoro and the others had a reddish tint, while Volta's hands shone pink.

"Fascinating," Pogo muttered. He put away the map and took out a notebook, jotting down everything he saw. "While these scent slugs have bioluminescent properties, the ones near the manhole cover don't."

"There were some holes in the cover," Kibatto noted. "So a little light could come through. The slugs back here don't have that."

"They must have been down here for centuries to evolve like that," Pogo marveled, writing even faster. "Fascinating!"

Slasher frowned. "There's enough light to see by, but it may not stay that way." He tossed his torch into the river, the liquid waste extinguishing the flames. Drogon followed suit, and their world grew a little darker, and a whole lot redder.

"We have five more torches in my duffel," Pogo assured. "We shouldn't have any trouble if we enter a dark patch."

_Click_

"What was that?" Buki whirled around, gun trained behind them. "Did you guys hear that?" A sudden breeze caressed her neck, a chill cutting through the humid air. Her instincts screamed at her to duck, and she did so just before a circular blade took her head off. It glided soundlessly across the cavern, disappearing into the wall on the other side.

Volta fell back, knocking into Zoro. His cheek burned, something warm and wet running down it. "Everyone, get back!"

_Click_

Almost too fast for the naked eye, two swords were in Zoro's hands. He felt a cold puff of wind, and he slammed his blades into the wall. Sparks flew, and a horrible screech filled the sewer, followed by a cracking sound. The swordsman never considered that it was his blades that had broken, and his confidence was proven when several pieces of sharp metal slid out, falling harmlessly to the ground.

"EVERYONE FREEZE!" Slasher roared.

Everyone froze, their heads twisted downward, eyes darting around the cobblestone floor. Their attempts to find an obvious tell were useless; all the cobblestones were uniquely shaped and shaded, and therefore uniform in their suspiciousness. Checking for looseness could be fatal.

Slasher took a deep breath. "Is everyone alright?"

"I'm cut," Volta replied. "It nicked me when it sailed over Buki."

"I think I lost an inch of hair," Buki sighed miserably.

"You'll live," Slasher deadpanned. He touched the wall. "Looks like Dareda really did set some traps. Can you guys tell which stones to avoid."

They shook their heads. Slash frowned, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Buki, how much warning did you have?"

"A second or two." She scratched the back of her neck. "If we all sprint down the tunnel, maybe we could dodge them."

Zoro shook his head. "If we all run at once, the people in the back have to try and dodge all the blades set off by the people in front."

"Not if we run one at a time," Pogo suggested. "And there might be only one blade per slot. In which case, Slasher, you could set them all off."

"There's only a slim chance I'll land on every loaded cobblestone," Slasher countered. "Even if I trigger half of them, the other half will still be waiting to slice the next runner."

"I can outrun them," Drogon said confidently. "Let me go first!"

"I'm going first," Slasher stated. He leaned close to the walls, tracing his fingers along the bricks. I can feel one of the slits. They're probably all over this wall. If I die, Pogo, you're in command."

The rotund hunter paled. That is, turned pink. "Sure thing, boss."

"Be careful man," Kibatto said.

Slasher nodded, He crouched down, putting his left foot behind him. It was hard to tell, but Volta thought he heard him whispering to himself. He left foot rested on one of the cobblestones.

_Click_

He shot forward like a rocket, feet barely touching the ground. Just barely.

_Click Click Click Click Click Click Click Click _

The blades zipped out, killer frisbees sailing through the air. Black against red, they looked like UFOs, dark objects with dark intentions, flying soundlessly under a demonic sky.

And none of them even got close.

Slasher ran out of sight, the clicks fading with him. There were a few seconds of pointed, uncomfortable silence.

"_Made it!" _

There was a collective sigh of relief.

"Alright, your turn pal," Kibatto said. "How fast can you run?"

Pogo looked ahead of him, down the curve of the tunnel. Then he looked down at himself. "Not fast enough. But I have an idea.

Kibatto blinked. "Oh no."

Volta frowned. "What's wrong?"

"Whenever Pogo has an idea," Buki explained worriedly. "It means-"

"I'M GONNA SHOOT EVERYTHING!" With a maniacal laugh, Pogo plunged his entire arm into his bag and then just as quickly yanked it out. Except it wasn't his arm anymore.

Volta blanched, as Pogo took aim at the side of the tunnel. The gatling gun began to rotate.

"Take cover slabs!" Kibatto followed his own advice, and the others followed suit.

_BUBUBUBUBUBUBUBUBUBUBUBUBUBUBUBUBUB!_

The ancient brick sides of the sewer shattering under the force of hundreds of bullets. Thunder and lightning, sound and light, bursting forth with equal intensity. Covering his ears didn't do much good; Volta could fell his drums vibrating. Closing his eyes worked well enough though.

The sound finally came to an end, and as the smoke cleared, the hunters were treated to the sight of thousands of little pieces of metal sliding out of the broken stone. They fell onto the cobblestones amidst the rubble, triggering some of them uselessly.

"It doesn't look like there was a propulsion system," Pogo noted, his sanity restored. "The cobblestones must have acted as a release mechanism. The slits were angled so the blades would slide downward, the rush of air signaling their increasing velocity as gravity asserted itself."

Zoro frowned, before shrugging and pulling a cup of steaming tea from his haramaki. "Mystery blades," he muttered.

"Got any more?" Drogon asked.

"Sure." Zoro pulled out another cup. "Want some Volta?"

"How do you keep it upright?!"

The swordsman grinned. "A flat stomach and perfect balance. Would you like some tea Buki?"

"Hey, that rhymes!" Kibatto cried.

"_Get you asses down here!" _Slasher yelled. _"Dammit Pogo, warn me next time! I almost got a bullet in my back!"_

The ginormous gunman gulped. "Oops."

Even between Slasher's dash and Pogo's blast, a few blades remained to trouble them, but all were easily dodged. Volta watched one of them carefully, observing how it slid into the opposite wall at a lower spot then it had emerged. He crouched down and felt his side. Sure enough, he felt one of the slits, which meant they wouldn't have been any safer on the right side of the waste river. It was an ingenious trap.

"If this is just stage one, who the hell knows what Dareda's got cooking up ahead," Drogon said with a sneer. Which soon became a sinister smile. "And I can't wait to smash my way through it! Bring it on Nail-Head!"

"Don't tempt fate you idiot!" Buki hissed, thumping him on the head. "What if it's something you can't punch or kick?"

"Then I'll cut it," Zoro said confidently. "Or you'll shoot it. Confidence is the key to victory."

"That's definitely something your sensei said," Volta accused, his voice betraying his amusement.

"What can I say," the green-haired man laughed. "You pick up a thing or two after you hear it a thousand times."

"We're going to be coming up on a crossroad soon," Pogo stated. "One will take us further inward until we're under the palace. The other will take us outward, to the edge of downtown. Slasher, what's the call?"

Silence.

Pogo blinked. "Hey Slasher, where'd you go?" The floor gave out under him, and in a heartbeat, Pogo was gone.

Volta had no time to react to this frightening development, for the ground had disappeared beneath him as well.

He was in freefall, his hat flying off his head, longcoat flapping wildly behind him. Moisture squeezed itself from his eyes, his heartrate spiking from the shock.

Thankfully, that was exactly what he needed. Adrenaline flooded his brain, and his tattoos sprang to life, gripping the sides of the shaft. They clawed desperately at the brick, slowing Volta's decent as best they could.

Fortunately, it didn't matter, because the shaft began to level out. Soon Volta found himself on what was essentially a waterless water slide, as pitch black as the plastic tunnels he had slid down as a child. The comparison made him laugh, which quickly took a turn for the hysterical.

More ink flowed from him, forming clawed hands and slamming themselves into the sides of the tunnel. It wasn't enough to stop him, but the bottom of the shaft was too slick for that anyway. He resigned himself to his fate, allowing himself to be carried to his destination. He hoped it wasn't fatal.

.~===)==============={%}

Blood trickled out of Slasher's mouth. He spat out a tooth, then punched his nose back into place.

The pain was bad, but manageable bad, the kind he had endured time and time again. He still had his sword, and several slugs decorated the walls. He whispered a quick prayer to the Face for the light they provided.

But where was he? It was a spacious room, high-ceilinged and cluttered beyond belief. Bits and pieces of metal and stone were everywhere, some combined into strange structures. A large desk covered in blueprints sat in the corner. Could this place be Dareda's workshop?

"_Seven little dwarves went into the mines."_

Slasher froze, his grip tightening. That voice. Could it be?

"_One got lost and fell out of line."_

The hunter turned around, blade ready to attack or defend. "Dareda! I'm here for your head!"

"_He waved a big sword and thought he was fine."_

"DAREDA! SHOW YOURSELF!"

Hands closed around his shoulders, squeezing so tightly Slasher feared his arms would pop out. A hot breath caressed his ear, and something cold and heard pressed into the back of his head. The head of a nail.

_But he's all alone. And now he's all __**mine**__."_

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**It's been a while, but I needed to finish my novella before I could keep going forward with this. The next couple chapters will not take this long, I promise.**

**Yeomanaxel, the Verified Yeo.**


	12. Goa Kingdom Arc Part 2

**As a certain Monty Python character once said:**

"**I'M NOT DEAD!"**

**Chapter 12 – The Depths**

The sliding came to an end, and Volta plunged straight into hell.

The room was awash in flames, licking the walls and ceiling, filling deep pits across the length of the floor. One such pit lay directly under Volta, as he fell from the chute that had brought him here.

He did not panic, instead letting the adrenaline in his system power his defense. Three large claws burst from his skin, smashing into the sides of the pit and breaking his fall. They twisted to the side, steering Volta's body away from the pit and toward a safe landing.

Or what should have been a safe landing. The moment he touched the ground, an incredible heat made itself known to him. Fears of melted boots propelled Volta to swing his claws toward the wall, where they dug in and lifted him into the air.

The fire seemed even brighter than it had been just a moment ago, a raging inferno settled into the heart of Dareda's vile maze. Just the thought of the man chilled Volta to the bone; if he could manage this, what other terrible feats of engineering was he capable of?

The floor began to glow, and soon became engulfed in flames. Thankfully, their brightness helped Volta locate an escape route in the form of a door on the far side of the room. His claws slithered around the biggest blazes, but even ink could boil and steam, evaporating away into something the pale hunter could not use.

…or could he?

Volta reached out with his hand. A meaningless gesture; he needed only his mind to direct the ink. But it _worked_, small dark clouds above the flame vibrating to the motion of Volta's fingers. With a smile, he brought the cloud to his outstretched hand, where it began to settle back into his skin.

Even as he did this, his inky appendages were scampering toward the exit. Volta didn't check the lock, instead opting to throw himself into his obstacle. The cheap wood shattered on impact, the thud of it vibrating through Volta's body. A sudden sharp pain stabbed into his side.

He collapsed into a failed attempt at a roll, wincing as he felt an especially large splinter dig further into his midsection. With the utmost care, he slid it out, provoking a small welling of blood from the exposed area.

"Damn…I don't think this is machine washable."

The thought struck him as odd somehow, and when he realized why, he chuckled. It didn't matter, because there weren't any washing machines.

"Good thing I know how to waAAH!"

A spiked log swung from the ceiling, clipping Volta's head and knocking him into the wall. He collapsed, stunned and bleeding profusely.

The log began to swing back the other way, but already Volta was on his feet, his grip on his sword tightening. He ripped it from its scabbard.

The log flew toward him, nails embedded within gleaming by the light of the flames behind it. Volta couldn't find it in him to be intimidated.

He held his blade before him, both hands tight around the black leather grip. He raised it high.

"_Naming an attack gives it power. It helps you focus your energy into the move. More importantly, shouting out what you're gonna do reaffirms in your mind the strength of the move, that it won't fail you as you unleash it. Plus, it sounds cool."_

As silly as it seemed, Volta had taken the advice. He already had a name picked out for this move.

Third Blitz…DOWNWARD SLASH!

The rapier met the log right in its smallest ring, cleaving like a knife through hot butter. None of the nails were deep enough to stop the sword's advance.

But the two halves still flew at his face. He sank to one knee, the sharp nails snatching away his hat. He remembered Zoro's lesson on the matter.

"_When you cut something it half that's coming right at you, you need to use enough power to displace the air. That whooshing sound a sword makes is because of the air it's stirring, but in this case, you want the air to create a gap between the two halves of what you cut, so they sail away to your right and left."_

The log had been too long. Volta stood up, watching as the log carried his hat away into the darkness, before slowly emerging back toward him. This time Volta jumped it.

Second Blitz…SIDE SLASH!

The ropes holding the log in place gave easily, and the whole contraption crashed into the ground. Once again, Volta used his ink claws to break his fall, preventing him from landing amongst the nails.

He sheathed his sword and grabbed his hat. Already the holes and tears were repairing themselves. Another strange feature.

"I should record these in my journal," he murmured to himself. No sooner were the words out of his mouth then the floor opened up beneath him, a pit of spikes ready to meet his falling form.

Volta barely reacted; the claws shot out and dug into the sides of the corridor, propelling Volta over the trap. Sweat poured down his forehead, and for a moment he stood gasping for breath. Had he ever used his power as continuously as he had just now?

He didn't have time to think about it. A familiar gust of air at the back of his neck jerked him into action, and he ducked just as another soundless saw blade flew through the hall. Volta sprinted, more blades slipping out of the walls and ceiling.

"I wonder…huff…if Zoro…huff…is having an easier time…huff…of it?!"

.~===)==============={%}

Blades. An endless room of blades. Thousands of them, spinning, sliding, stabbing, slashing. Wing Chun dummies filled the room, and each had a long, jagged blade at the end of their arms and legs, many rusted, some dripping with green liquid. Worse, they spun on their own accord, powered by hidden mechanisms hidden from sight. Some practically _blurred. _

Not that Zoro was complaining. In a flourish reserved for only the greatest of challenges, he tied his jet-black bandana tight across his forehead. Once it was secure, he whipped out his blades and leaped into the fray.

The first few rows fell easily, the weak blades shattering against his superior weaponry. A dozen Wing Chuns went to pieces, shards and splinters flying through the air.

A dozen spikes shot out of the ceiling, but Zoro was already gone, dashing away to the other side of the room. His blades met a spike from his side, knocking it into one of the faster moving training weapons. By accident or design (even Zoro couldn't be sure, letting himself be guided by instinct), the spike jammed the weapon, its spinning arms and legs grinding to a halt. The contraption shook, creaked, and exploded, launching a new volley of shrapnel into the air.

Zoro ducked behind a sharpened pendulum, timing it so it would swing behind him just as the shrapnel reached him. More blades fell from the ceiling, but gravity wasn't fast enough for Roronoa.

He couldn't wipe the smile from his face. _This _was his element, the closest thing to it without another swordsman to defeat. And then, as if summoned by the green-haired hunter's thoughts, the swordsman appeared.

He burst through the other end of the room, the door shattering against the impact of his armor. His attire was a sad affair, dotted with rust and squeaking unnaturally. But the claymore in his hand was well-kept, and that was all that mattered to Zoro.

"Did Dareda hire you?!" he roared over the noise.

The knight did not reply with words. Instead he lifted his blade and _swung_.

Zoro only had a moment to realize his predicament before he witnessed the first dummies fly toward the ceiling. Their upper halves, anyway. He ducked just before the sharp wind could do the same to him, but it wasn't enough. A horrible burn drenched the back of his head, as if he had taken a razor to it without any cream or water. He felt it gingerly, grimacing at the smoothness of it. Tatters of his bandana fluttered to the ground.

"Shit," he growled. "And my bald spot had _just _filled in." He leaped up and charged, battering a couple of spitting Wing Chuns into the wall.

The knight raised his blade again, but Zoro didn't give him the chance to bring it down. Quick as lightning, he slashed his armpits, then ducked under his legs to slash the back of his knees.

No blood welled from these wounds. The armored assailant didn't seem to feel them. And Zoro knew why. His smile became a snarl as he weaved around the suddenly clumsy knight.

"Coward. Can't fight me for real, can you? CRAB GRAB!" Zoro's bladed uppercut sent the suit flying, cleaving through the more rusted parts of the chest. The empty armor shook for a moment, before collapsing into a heap, its strings slipping through thin lines in the ceiling. The giant claymore broke in half as it fell from the suits grip, hollow and serrated; perfect for creating a blade of wind.

"Tricks and lies," Zoro sneered. He batted aside a Wing Chun without looking at it, listening to its crash on the other side of the room. Most of the contraptions had collapsed, the ceiling's traps spent. Only the sharpened pendulum still swung.

Zoro wanted nothing more than to cut through the ceiling and track down the puppeteer, but it was too high, and he was a long way's off from forming wind blades of his own. Another work in progress, he thought bitterly.

"I need to get stronger, and soon," he murmured. He ran through the ruined room, and into the corridor, and the unknown terrors beyond it.

.~===)==============={%}

_BANG! BANG! BANG!_

Another three crabs exploded into guts and claws, but a dozen more swiftly took their place, charging forward with reckless abandon.

Buki winced as she put more weight then she meant to on her left ankle. Shooting was hard enough regularly, but solid footing was key for a markswoman. Another sharp pain exploded in her lower leg, provoking a silent scream from her lips.

The closest crab jumped, its pincers flashing in the torchlight. She punched it, the blow splitting the skin of two more of her knuckles. Another silent scream.

"Dammit all," she muttered. "Why did I blow off so many close-combat practices?" The words were barely out of her mouth before another three crabs flew through the air, their trajectories all leading right to her face.

She didn't move a muscle, except to snort laughter as the creepy crustaceans knocked into each other and mutually canceled their momentum.

_BANG! BANG! BANG!_

Three down, nine to go.

"Out of the way!"

The sound of her teammate's voice was music to her ears. She jumped with all her might to the side, just as another half-dozen crabs leapt toward where she had been.

_BUBUBUBUBUBUBUBUBUBUBUBUBUBUBUBUBUB!_

And were promptly reduced to chunks of seafood. The ones still on the ground followed suit.

"Pogo!" she hobbled over to her rotund friend, straining to get her arms around him in a hug. "You're alive!"

"For now," he replied. "But I'm not unscathed."

Something wet trailed down Buki's arm, and she pulled away, eyes wide. A trio of holes peppered Pogo's left shoulder, bleeding sluggishly around his cape-cum-bandage.

"It's not as bad as it looks," he said, offering a weak grin that didn't reassure Buki in the least. "I got hit with some arrows in the last room I passed through. Not to mention the killer rugburn that slide gave me."

"You'll worsen the damage if you keep using your gun," Buki said. "Let me look at that. I know some first aid."

"You know how to get bullets out," Pogo said. "I'll survive with what I've got. Besides, we need to find the others. That's the priority here."

Buki pursed her lips, an argument forming on her tongue. She never got the chance to express it.

_CLACK. CLACK. CLACK. _

Heavy, measured thumps. Something _big _was on the way. And Buki had a good idea of what it was.

She whipped her hair back and forth, bullets placed within flying upwards, while simultaneously opening the cylinder of her new .44. Gravity reasserted itself, and the airborne ammo fell into the awaiting slots. It had taken _months _to perfect, but she could do it in seconds now.

Which was all they had, as it turned out. The monstrous crustacean emerged from the darkness, twice her height and many, many times her width. A coconut crab of enormous proportions, its dull crimson eyes boring into its pray. Two huge claws weighed it down, but not enough to impede its insidious pace toward the two hunters.

Pogo hoisted his gun, but Buki beat him to it. Two shots blew out its eyes, provoking a screech a normal crab shouldn't have been able to make. It darted forward, pincers pinching. Buki's roll floundered, her ankle impairing her movements, and the claw grazed her side.

"Buki!" Pogo's cry of alarm disappeared under the roar of his gun, dozens of little cannonballs blasting from the barrel. The crab shook under the weight of the fire, but its shell didn't even crack. It kept advancing, more slowly now, fluids leaking from its ruined eye stalks.

The markswoman lunged, grabbing one of its legs and scampering up it like a monkey. The crab bellowed, its nasal tone vibrating through the cavern, but Buki was undeterred. It shook and shimmied, attempting to buck her. Her hand grabbed the wrong part of a joint, and she screamed as the flexing limb closed on a chunk of her skin, flaying it off as the crustacean shook every more wildly.

Pogo smashed into its claws, using his considerable weight to unbalance it. Stunned, the crab lost all awareness of the girl climbing up its leg, allowing her to jump onto its back, blood splattering its bright red shell. She kicked its antennae out of the way, and fired everything she had left into its mouth.

It tried to scream again, but the bullets tore through its throat. It thrashed even more as Buki jumped off, a thick pink foam bubbling out as it did so.

_BUBUBUBUBUBUBUBUBUBUBUBUBUBUBUBUBUB!_

A fresh wave of bullets tore into the creature's face. Pogo aimed his arm lower, trying to shoot at the more sensitive underbelly. He threw himself to the ground, adjusting his aim, but he could only hit the legs.

That proved enough; the crab ran into a wall, backed up, and hit it again, plowing through and into the next room.

Which happened to be full of lava.

A final screech met the hunter's ears, raw and unhinged, before being overwhelmed by a great hiss.

A fresh wave of blood ran down Pogo's chest, but he didn't notice. "Buki, your hand."

She grinned. "I'll survive." Without asking, she ripped off a good chunk of her friend's cape, using it to bandage her wound. "Come on, we need to find the others, and soon! There are worse things down here."

She grabbed a torch and ran through the darkness, no clickity-clacking crab claws to give her pause. Pogo hustled after her.

"Help…"

He stopped, head turning. Had he heard something?

"Someone…please…"

Near the lava. Faintly, over the hissing of melting crab, a cry for help. He moved closer.

"POOGOO! COME QUICK!"

Pogo whirled around. "Buki! What's wrong?!" He raced for the door, all else forgotten.

As the echoes of his footsteps faded away, the hiss of the lava grew louder, as the shell blackened and burned. A hand tried to push out of it, only to sink beneath the lava and melt away.

.~===)==============={%}

When Drogon's chute had opened up beneath him, he was ready. He fell with the grace of an eagle, landing with the strength of an elephant. The floor cracked beneath him as he exerted his power upon it.

"Fuck _me_," he said. "And just like that, Nail-Head got us all apart of each other."

An outsider wouldn't have noted any concern in Drogon's rough voice, but his casual acceptance didn't keep his Adam's apple from bobbing, or a bead of sweat to roll down his face. He took up a defensive stance, ready for anything that could come his way.

The broken tile beneath him sagged, and he jumped into the air, landing on the head of a large, demonic gargoyle.

There were a _lot _of gargoyles in the room. Many served their mechanical purpose, water gushing out of their mouths into small basins and pools throughout the room. Others served their spiritual purpose, standing guard at the corners and doors that marked all four walls.

Drogon scowled. "Fancy statues." He tapped the one beneath him. "Real nice stonework. Huh. The hell would Nail-Head want these in his labyrinth?"

"_Why don't you ask him?"_

Every hair on his body shot up, and his heartrate _tripled_ in three seconds flat. Arms and legs sprung to motion, fists flying through the air behind him.

No one was there.

"_You can't hit me, bitch."_

"You're the bitch, _bitch!"_ Drogon slammed his foot into the gargoyle's head, shattering it and the rest of the statue beneath. He touched the floor just long enough to propel himself across the room. Another gargoyle turned to dust beneath his fists.

"_Calling me a bitch? Reactive. Striking at random positions? Reactive. Reactive people don't win fights, bitch."_

"WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?!" Another three statues went to pieces; they weren't quite as durable as the first two. Water gushed out, washing the dust from Drogon's knuckles.

"_Ya know how a skilled speaker, or an actor on stage, can project their voice really far? I can go a step further and project it behind you, around you. Even within you."_

"The hell does that work?" Drogon growled. His knuckles throbbed, but not as much as his head. Was it Dareda who was speaking to him now? Or some random loony, fucking with him for kicks? The labyrinth was big enough for both, he supposed.

"_Ya wanna know something crazy? I'm getting paid a hundred mil for this. Can you imagine? Hundred million berries for hunting_ _people? Who has that kind of money? Not that I'm complaining of course, but it's just crazy ta think about." _

Drogon paused, brow furrowed. It could be a lie, another weird way of fucking with him, but if not…no way Dareda had that kind of cash. Was something else in play here? _Someone_ else?

Now that he thought about it, how the hell had Dareda gotten the resources to build this under Goa in the first place? He'd had a few months to prepare, sure, but there were fucking _lava pits _down here.

Someone very rich and very powerful, he realized. Someone who wanted Dareda's activities to continue. The thought of people aiding this monster sent a chill up his shoulders, the kind he only felt when something was very, very wrong.

He'd felt this once before. In the darkness of early morning, his father passed out drunk, lips splotched red and smelling of raspberries.

His mother hated raspberries.

"Shut the fuck up, brain," he whispered. "Tryna focus here."

"_Telling your brain to shut up will only make you more reactive. Instinct can only take you so far in a fight. And I'm _very _good at predicting instincts"_

"This ain't no fight," Drogon replied. "It's just you mouthing off. Enjoy your projection shit as long as ya can, cuz when I find you, I'm gonna break your fucking jaw."

"_Bold words, bounty hunter. You hunt for money, but I hunt for the _challenge_. And a hunter as skilled as I cannot lose to a mere beast such as yourself."_

A wind ripped through the tunnel. Drogon ran behind another gargoyle, inching closer toward the door. A groaning filled the room, and giant stone blocks fell from above, crashing down and blocking the way. Similar crashes resounded through the chamber, and Drogon turned to see the other doors were blocked as well. His ears rang with the sound. The projected voice spoke again, but he didn't hear what he said.

"Bastard," Drogon said. "Fight me like a man!" He raised a fist into the air for emphasis.

The wind returned, even stronger than before. Drogon saw the cause; vents in the ceiling, chiseled into it, air blowing through them. Suddenly, his instincts _screamed._

He heard a sharp crack and ducked a moment too late. The top of his pointed hair was blown off, a bullet punching through the statue behind. Its head fell and shattered, adding to the cacophony of noise. Noise, Drogon realized, designed to conceal the sound of a hunting rifle. This bastard wasn't fucking around.

"_Between this wind and the water, you'll find no rest, as I begin my hunt_._ I'm in here somewhere, slipping through the statues. So, if you want to break my jaw, you better get _looking._"_

"Bastard," Drogon repeated, but not enough to drown out the roar of the wind, or the splash of the water.

.~===)==============={%}

Kibatto's bat splintered into a thousand pieces. That was far from the worst thing that had happened to him in the past few minutes or so.

A giant suit of armor stood before him, but it was empty. Strings attached it through the ceiling, the controller undoubtably above, but Kibatto couldn't reach him.

He felt his fury rising. First his jacket, then his hair, now his bat? What else could be taken from him?

Before he could react, the suit punched him, its arm darting forward and dragging the whole body with it. He felt something pop in his chest as he sailed across the room, crashing into another armor set near the back. Thankfully, this one did not move.

He spat out a glob of blood, getting to his feet just as the suit sailed over to him. He barely dodged a kick to the groin, one that would have undoubtably popped something _much _more essential.

He was just about to lunge for the damn thing when it jerked, the strings vibrating.

_BANG!_

The strings lost their tautness, and the suit collapsed in a heap at his feet.

"SHIT!" Unlike most of the rooms, this one had a wooden ceiling, so the expletive was muffled but audible. The bastard had been shot. By Buki, right above him?

"What the hell was that for?! I wasn't doing anything!"

Squeaky, desperate, almost girlish. An unexpected voice for someone who could easily move around several hundred pounds of plate mail with strings alone, Kibatto thought.

"You were clearly doing _something_! I don't trust anything or anyone down here, so don't even _think _of moving another muscle!"

His heart leaped. It _was _Buki!

"HEY, DOWN HERE!" The scream provoked another coughing fit, blood flying from his mouth. Holy shit, had his lung been punctured? Was there a rib floating around in his body right now, threatening that fate if it hadn't already happened?

All fear melted away when a bullet blasted through the ceiling, followed by a boot smashing through the weakened board to make a hole big enough to climb through.

Buki stuck her head through, hair fanning own. "Kibatto! Where's you jack…WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO YOUR HAIR!?"

He winced, rubbing his singed scalp with his fingers. "Nothing that can't grow back…I hope."

Tears leaked down Buki's forehead. Or was it up her forehead? "I'm so sad. That pompadour was the best part of you."

Ouch.

Kibatto limped over, grabbing a fistful of Buki's cyan locks. She whipped her head up, taking him through the hole so fast he _almost_ bounced off the felt a sweat drop form on his face; _that _would have hurt like hell.

To his immense relief, Pogo was there as well, looking worse for wear. "We're running out of bullets. I've got about thirty, Buki's got three."

"Bat's busted," Kibatto said. He turned to the puppeteer, who more or less fit his mental image; thick muscles, wide frame, but not a fighter. He lay huddled on the ground, hugging a bleeding foot.

"That just leaves Slasher and Drogon, as well as witch slab and moldy slab."

"You think up the weirdest nicknames," Pogo said. "You know he's not really a witch, right?"

Kibatto waved his hand. "Psh."

"You bitch," the puppeteer mumbled. "I'll never walk again."

Buki narrowed her eyes. "Oh, sure you will," she said. "You'd be surprised what hospitals are capable of now. Not that you deserve one, after throwing your lot in with Dareda."

"I didn't have a choice," the man whimpered. He trembled. "He…he would have gone after my daughter…that's what he said."

Pogo shook his head. "Nail-Head lied. Monster that he is, that's a line he wouldn't cross. Just the opposite, in fact; out of all his victims, the one that suffered the more excruciating death was a slaver who specialized in kids. When the Marines got there, they found the bastard strung up in chains, _thousands _of sewing nails crisscrossing his body, slowing bleeding out over the course of days. And all the cells were open and empty."

Kibatto frowned. "Why didn't we tell Volta and Zoro about that?"

"It doesn't really matter," Buki said. "At least, not in the long run. But as for you, well, ya got played pretty bad."

She leaned in close, eyes staring deep into the puppeteers own. He tried to look away, but she gripped the sides of his head, forcing his gaze. "You didn't have a part in Henry's death, did you?"

Tears sprung from the puppeteer's eyes. "…no. Dareda killed him himself."

"How many of you guys are there?" Pogo questioned. He looked more concerned by the second.

"T-t-there's four of us. Myself, s-some crazy guy obsessed with hunting, a crab breeder, and a f-fat guy Dareda kept close to him. I d-don't know their names. W-were brought in by a m-man with very tall hair."

A man with tall hair? Buki couldn't think of anyone like that. She turned to Pogo and Kibatto, but they both shook their heads, just as mystified as she was.

"The dude's got money, and lots of it too. H-he said if he helped us with this, we'd get pretty big cuts of it."

"What kind of money are we talking about?" Pogo asked.

"Tens of millions, maybe hundreds, I forget the amount."

Buki scowled. "So Dareda has supporters. _Rich _supporters."

"The plot thickens," Kibatto growled. "Like a pea soup with extra garlic."

The puppeteer blinked. "What?"

Kibatto kicked him in the head. "WHO SAID YOU COULD TALK?!"

He almost kicked him again, but he never got the chance. The puppeteer's head jerked, eyes twitching and rolling. His teeth chattered, and blood ran down his chin. It took a moment for Buki to realize he had bitten his tongue.

"What the hell Kibatto?!" Pogo cried. "You gave him a stroke!"

Kibatto paled. "That…I…that's no stroke. Half his face ain't drooping! I didn't mean-"

The puppeteer's hand shot out, gripping the batless hooligan by the shirt. With just a flick of his wrist, he went flying into the wall, colliding with an audible crack.

"KIBATTO!" Buki raced toward him. A sudden jolt sent her flying forward, a great weight pressed into her back. She braced for impact, protecting her head as she too went flying into the wall. Pogo crushed her against it, and as they collapsed, she realized he had been sent flying too.

She groaned as previous injuries burst back into life, while new ones in her arms and wrists made themselves known. She twisted onto her belly, watching in shock as the puppeteer got to his feet, still shaking like a leave.

"My head!" He screamed. "It's splitting! _Splitting! Ahhhh!_"

Bulges began to appear beneath his clothes, exploding outward into giant pink petals. They burst out of his mouth and nostrils, his arms and legs and chest, enclosing him in their midst. The petals curved, expanded, a green stem shooting out the bottom and lifting them up. Where a nondescript young man once stood, a giant rose grew, closed and unsoiled, absolutely beautiful and utterly terrifying.

The three hunters stared, unable to comprehend what they were seeing.

"Could this…could this be a Fruit?" Kibatto squeaked.

Pogo tried to answer, but a deep growl interrupted them. The rose bloomed, opening toward the sky, still growing larger as it did so. It began to press against the ceiling, when the stem collapsed, the flower tilting over and spilling its contents onto the stone floor.

Contents that happened to be a very, _very _large tiger. It had to be ten feet tall and twice as long, Kibatto thought. He had never seen a tiger before, but he knew they weren't supposed to get _that _big. Right?

It pawed the air, eyes full of confusion, even sadness. Then they blazed just as sharply with something a bit more animalistic, and much more alarming.

_Hunger_.

"How many bullets did you guys say you had again?" Kibatto whimpered.

"Not enough," Pogo said quietly. "Not even close."

.~===)==============={%}

Slasher had lived up to his name. Dareda's fiendish works, whatever they had been, were in pieces now, the man himself down two fingers and the tip of his nose. His blood still clung to the hunter's face, drying around his eyes where the killer had splattered him. The blinding tactic had worked, and now he was gone, disappeared down one of his hidey holes. His screams of rage and anger still reverberated in Slasher's skull, almost as painful as the rusty nail he had driven into his side.

The wound wasn't bad; there had been no force behind the thrust, Dareda off-balanced by an early kick to the knee. But the rust could lead to infection, and there were no doctors in hell.

And hell this was, Slasher thought, as he stared into a swirling abyss of fire and magma. There were a _lot _of magma pools, practically one for every two other rooms. Of his teammates, he saw no sign, but he heard things, things to make a man tremble in the dark. And darkness was almost as omnipresent as the fire, and the heat.

Questions burned in his mind as he considered the flames. How had Dareda gathered so much, and so quickly? What his compatriots now knew, he was also certain of; a financer was behind all this. One just as immoral and monstrous as the killer they were stalking.

The very idea boiled his blood, but it had to be the case. Which meant that this was far from over.

He hurried throughout the rooms, walking lightly between the great traps and triggers. Many of the chambers had similar layouts, and soon it became easy to navigate what lay within. And if it couldn't be navigated, it could be killed. The blood of three large crabs stained Slasher's blade by the time he found Zoro, in the heart of another blade room. The swordsman was making short work of the remaining Wing Chuns.

"_Rubicon Cross." _With this utterance, Slasher's sword flashed once more, and the final three traps collapsed in pieces.

Zoro smiled. "Finally. I was beginning to fear for you."

Slasher returned the smile. "No you weren't. I encountered Dareda."

That sobered them both. "Did he escape?" Zoro spat.

The big hunter nodded.

"He's more slippery then a Shimotsuki eel!"

"I took two fingers from him," Slasher intoned. "He's alive but hurting."

"Good to know." Zoro glared at the room, as if insulted by its lack of challenge. "I was expecting more from him, but it looks like this labyrinth has a limit to its creativity. I've been in this room at least four times now. Though the puppet was only in the first one…"

"Puppet?"

Zoro scowled. "Dareda's got goons, goons with skills. One of them piloted a giant suit of armor. It got off a wind attack."

"Skill indeed," Slasher said. "Where is he now."

"Not sure. Haven't seen the guy, just his puppet. He controls his strings through the ceiling."

Zoro pointed upward, but Slasher couldn't see any grooves. "He might follow a different path above us. This place has multiple levels."

"How many levels, I wonder? Just how far down are we?" Slasher had no means to answer his own question, so he took his sword to the ground in fury, slicing a groove into the stone. "Even with months of preparation, this seems too complicated. There's more to this. Much more."

The left the room together, watching each others' backs, Slasher taking the lead. More darkness up ahead, and as another door slammed shut behind them, darkness lay behind as well.

"Whatever conspiracy you think is going on," Zoro said. "It's not the first I've encountered. There's a much bigger one out there, going by the name, 'Organization.'"

"How original," Slasher quipped. "What do you know about them?"

Zoro frowned. "Well…I forget the details, Volta's better at that then I am, but it's led by some big pirate captain, at least that's the working theory. We think it's either the Bear King of Don Krieg."

"Isn't the Bear King dead?"

"That's what a lotta people think, and he might be. But Volta ain't so sure, and neither am I. People don't die easily in this world."

"Yeah," Slasher replied. "And when they do, it's never peacefully."

"…yeah."

They walked in silence for some time, their footsteps echoing faintly. The path turned left, then left again, right, left, right, right, left, left. A dead end. They sliced through the wall, reentering a corridor they had just passed through. The torches illuminated so little. Zoro wished the glow worms still covered the walls. Their light had been just as faint, but more colorful, even soothing. The light of the fire only gave the hall a sense of foreboding.

They retraced their steps, taking a few wrong turns more, finding their way. Slasher wished he had a paper on hand for a map. Zoro wished for booze. He wondered if he should be concerned about that.

…wait.

"Something's off."

Slasher turned. "How so?"

"We've been going in circles. The hall is moving."

"Moving?"

"Moving."

Slasher felt the wall, hand running over rough stone. He pressed it. "Moving how?"

Zoro grabbed a torch. "I think every time we turn a corner, the hall behind us turns around. So when we go back through it, we're actually in its backwards position."

"…what?"

"Every hall has a front and a back, right?" Zoro held out his arms, pantomiming. "So, every hall has a forward and a backward. The way I see it, if we go through its forwards, then we'll eventually get to the next room, but if we go through its _backwards, _we'll be sent back into the corridor we just went through."

Slasher stared. "That doesn't make any sense at all. A room doesn't _have _a forwards and backwards, you _go _forwards or backwards _through_ a room."

Zoro frowned. "That's what I just said. By going through a room's forwards or backwards, you're going either the wrong way, where you came out from, or forward, toward the next room."

"I'm too tired to argue," Slasher sighed. "Why don't we just…on second thought, _fuck_ that, I am gonna argue! That's _wrong_, a hall is a hall, if it looks the same from one end to the other, it doesn't _have_ anything but length! "

Zoro scowled. "Let me show you what I mean! See, we're in this hall right now, right in the center of it! That way…"

He pointed to the left.

"Is where we came from! And that way…"

He pointed to the left.

"Is where we're trying to go!"

"You're pointing the same fucking way!"

"No, I'm not! There's a _backwards_ and a _forwards _and they go around each other! We need to go forwards in the forwards of the hall to get to the next room, which will then be backwards!"

"Now you're saying something completely different from what you said before!"

"You _still _don't get it! Watch!" Zoro ran back the way they came, and Slasher ran after. Before them was the door that had closed on them, which _definitely _hadn't been in that corridor before.

"See!" Zoro exclaimed. "There's the door!"

"That's the last room we were in!"

Zoro cleaved into the rock and bashed it down with a kick, revealing a giant room full of spiders. "No, it's a new room! We haven't seen any spider rooms yet!"

Slasher sighed, slicing a trio of black widows as he did so. "I guess you were right, but only because the rooms really are changing on us. As if things weren't bad enough."

"The question is, how is it happening without us feeling or hearing it?" Zoro questioned.

"There must be some central control room. Perhaps one that controls a lot more than just this floor. I encountered Dareda in a personal workshop. It's likely he's traversing this hellhole to get to another, more personal spot."

"So you think he's in the control room now?" Zoro winced in disgust, using a piece of his shirt to remove the spider guts drenching his blades.

"I do." Slasher flicked off the guts on his sword. "The way I see it, Dareda's systems only work if he has a place where they all operate from, some sort of master control area. Considering the level of complexity in these traps and contraptions, it must be pretty big. If we can find and destroy it, the whole labyrinth shuts down."

"Got it," Zoro gritted out, as he yanked Wado from the head of a large recluse. "Then we best get started by finding the right level. Because it ain't this one."

Slasher cut the last spider in half, transitioning the last of his swing into the ground. He slashed at it, true to form, then stomped on it repeatedly, using more of his strength with each blow. Finally, the floor gave way, revealing another room beneath. Smaller, and full of pillars. But that isn't what caught their attention first.

"What the hell?" Zoro breathed. "Why is the floor made of _gold?_"

Slasher stuck his head through, eyeballing the distance to another pillar. He stood up and walked backward a few steps, slicing through the floor once more and sending it crumpling below. This time he jumped through, grabbing the much closer pillar and sliding down. Zoro followed suit, impressed; as much as Slasher's bad sense of direction annoyed him, moments of ingenuity like this more than made up for it.

The floor really was solid gold, their testing blades sinking right through it. Golden decorations adorned the walls, intricately carved and spiraled, like flowers mid-bloom, out of which sprouted mosaics of animals and monsters, some startling in their hideousness. A chandelier hung from the ceiling, as illuminating as it was jagged and sharpened. Zoro wouldn't want it falling on him.

"It's a nice change of pace compared to all the stone and fire," Slasher said. "Which likely means this room is even more dangerous than those were."

"A safe assumption," Zoro agreed.

Footsteps, soft clacks against the ground. For a brief moment, Slasher felt himself transported into the literature of his school days. Hadn't a thousand duels begun this way, with one fighter slowly walking toward another?

He and Zoro turned around, and before them stood a man. He shone like the sun, golden armor covering every inch of him, a dragon helm enveloping his head. A silver scimitar hung from a purple belt, and he drew it slowly, letting it screech against his polished suit.

He twirled the sword in his fingers, and when he tapped its tip to the ground, the blade burst with _fire,_ bright blue licks that warped the blade.

Slasher smiled. "Ah, there it is. Can't go too long without some fire, what with _RUBICON CROSS!" _

He rushed forward, interrupting himself in an attempt to confuse the knight and slow his defense. In this, he was disappointed, the man stepping just out of range of the slash, his flaming blade moving up to meet Slasher's own.

Zoro, seeing no other knight to fight, begrudgingly decided to share this one with his comrade, running to his aid. All three swords were out and ready, the two in his hands locked in a reverse grip, close to the forehead.

"BULL NEEDLES!"

The knight deigned to let the attack wash over him, a dozen imprecise strikes pricking his armor. Unfortunately, he failed to recognize Zoro's follow-up.

"CRAB SEIZE!"

That one rattled, the armor vibrating as Zoro brought his blades up and down, in the brutal scissor motion. Slasher followed thatup with a slash to the legs, and Zoro followed _that _up with another dozen strikes to the joints.

The knight threw himself into the air, too lightweight for all that he wore, and launched his counterattack. A vertical wheel of fire, singing the air and melting the ground. Flames leaped from his sword, and the two hunters were forced to retreat, feet dancing back from the heat.

The knight found his footing and pressed the attack, sword swings controlled but vicious, flames billowing off the blade like steam out of a shower stall. It was almost comical, if Slasher's life wasn't in so much immediate danger.

"Circle him! Get him from behind!"

Zoro tried, but having heard, the knight was ready for it and twirled around, creating a buffer of flames between his enemies. Then, to both their horrors, he preceded to _charge_ through his own attack, bull rushing Zoro the same way Zoro had bull rushed him.

His sword was not at an angle to strike, but his elbow was. The green-haired swordsman screamed, glowing-hot gold slamming into his sternum with all the force of an airborne bowling ball. His shirt caught fire around the point of impact, which sent him flying across the room, swords falling from twitching fingers.

"Zoro!" Slasher rushed to his aid this time, but already the knight stood in his path, directing another wave of fire at him. His armor glowed, outright _dripping_ in places. One of the dragon helm's ruby-colored lenses melted away, revealing a hollow, bloodshot eye filled with pain.

"You lunatic! CAESAR SLICER!"

The slashes did little, and the knight retaliated with a slash of his own. Slasher backpedaled, but not fast enough to avoid a deep cut to his arm. It cauterized instantly, _agonizingly_, and the normally stoic hunter had to bite back a scream of his own.

What kind of madman would run through his own flames? Slasher ran back even faster, clutching his arm. The knight advanced, his armor still red hot, sword simmering in the air. Then he staggered, a strangled groan escaping his lips. The knight fell over and lay still, thoroughly cooked.

Slasher blinked. It was over, just like that. He sagged to the ground, the adrenaline keeping his own pain at bay, but not forever. He struggled back to his feet, turning toward Zoro.

The green-haired swordsman groaned, and even that weak effort of breath collapsed him. The pain of the burn was nothing compared to the fire in his chest, choking the air out of his lungs. His vision grew cloudy, unable to see beyond a red haze that deepened and deepened, until everything shone crimson in his view.

He coughed, and collapsed, darkness swallowing him.

.~===)==============={%}

After a nearly endless cavalcade of rooms and halls, at last Volta found himself amidst something new. A chasm, one that extended into darkness, three bridges crossing it. The first was white, the second gray, the third black, and beyond, a single red door.

"Stranger and stranger," he murmured. How many times had he said this now? He sounded just like Alice, he thought, after one too many curious events had sapped her ability to comprehend her surroundings. Volta was entering a similar state.

He could disappear into his hat, he considered. Slip into it and form a ceiling, blocking out all this unpleasantness if only for a moment's rest. But who knows what monstrous traps could descend upon it in his moment of relaxation? And if the hat was destroyed, would he be destroyed with it?

Such thoughts kept him from resting. He needed to be alert, guard up and ready to block the next attack, because it could be from _anywhere._ Volta was beginning to see the genius of Dareda's twisted labyrinth; all the rooms and halls hadn't just been carved from stone, they'd been carved _out _of the stone, so that the whole area under Goa shifted and rotated, a merry-go-round thousands of feet wide. If it collapsed, the sewers above would go down with it, and then the city itself. An entire kingdom vanquished by months of careful construction.

That was the endgame, Volta realized. The whole maze was fragile, a child's slinky. Play with it too hard and it was unusable, broken, mangled. And Dareda was playing as hard as he possibly could.

And now, before him, the chasm. He wasn't sure what lay down it, but it was where the city would collapse into, like a single stream of water out the end of a science dripper. The door, so unlike all the ones he had seen before, could very well lead to the room that controlled everything. It was a hunch, but Volta had good hunches, and in this one, he was certain.

He strolled up to the gray bridge, coat flapping behind him. He placed his foot on it, careful to keep most of his weight off of it. He leaned only a little before it snapped under him. He walked to the black bridge and tried to do the same, finding the steps much sturdier. He placed all his weight upon it, and it began to bend.

Before he could doubt himself, Volta flew over the bridge, stepping as lightly and quickly as he could. The steps shattered beneath him, but he had already moved over before the boards could fall. He practically leapt to the other side, the whole structure crashing down behind him. He dusted off his coat and walked to the door. He noticed a dozen golden chains and locks fastened onto it. Were they real gold?

A slash of his sword cut through it like butter, and the door swept open.

No hallways this time. Just a room, but a vast one, wider and larger than all the rest. The whole place churned with gears, turning and twisting, pistons firing through them. The sound was thunderous and full of squeals, and Volta knew he had gotten it right. This was the heart of the labyrinth, secretly located underneath it.

"Don't touch anything."

The voice rasped, and Volta knew, perhaps instinctually, it's owner. He turned.

Dareda stood behind him, a large hammer in his hand. The other dripped blood at a dangerous rate, several fingers sheared off it.

"Touch anything, and I'll fuckin _kill you_."

Volta stared at him, but only with one eye. The other stared firmly past. A little trick he had learned back home; if they thought your _full_ attention wasn't on them, then none of it was. A good way to make someone angry, and anger bred mistakes, errors. Volta was very good at capitalizing on errors.

"Hey. Where the fuck are ya looken at?" Dareda turned his head, and this seemed to pain him. Volta's eyes widened; the man was missing a good chunk of his nose. How had he not noticed before?

And just like that, his goal changed. Volta looked at him with both eyes, his gaze as condescending as he could make it. "What are you doing?"

"What am I…doing?" The question seemed to catch Dareda off-guard, and his hands flew to his face. He stroked the nails in his head, perhaps a habit he had picked up. The left side became smeared in his blood, which began dripping off the nail head. It was surprisingly stomach-churning, seeing the blood drip from his stumps like that, and Volta almost looked away.

"I'm doing what I've wanted to do for a long time," Dareda said suddenly. "I'm making things that I like."

"Then you must really love death traps."

Dareda smiled, and it was somehow most disgusting then the bloody ruin his hand had become. His teeth were yellowed and chipped, yet they gleamed. "I do. I couldn't build them though. I didn't have the means."

"You didn't have the means or the money," Volta corrected, his anger growing. "You've been financed. Some bastard saw the killings you did and dared you to go _bigger_. I plan to hunt him down when I'm finished with you."

Dareda chuckled darkly. "Hate ta burst yer bubble there, but you can't hunt a dragon. You'll _burn_."

.~===)==============={%}

"Ah."

"Yes master?"

"I have lost him."

"The Dragon Claw?"

"Yes. My bud has died."

"That quickly?"

"I do not think I put it in right. It might have damaged his brain, resulting in a poor performance on the Claw's part. I will have Cupajoe train another."

"I will inform him of this, master."

"…"

"Hm."

"Something on your mind, Zuzy? You always have permission to speak."

"Well, I was just wondering…you seem…pensive, master."

"Pensive? I am a little bit. Things are progressing too fast."

"Too fast?"

"I wanted a little more time. Just a little bit more, and the positioning would have been perfect."

"…what do you mean?"

"Zuzy, let me ask you a question. When you butter a slice of bread, do you butter the left side of the front, the right side of the front, the left side of the back, or the right side of the back?"

"…uh…"

"You butter the entire front, of course. If you have only butter, and not, say, jam or peanut sauce or anything along those lines, you butter the entire front of a slice of toast. Now, if you wanted to, you could butter the front and back, but then you would get butter on your fingers. You would have to hold the toast by the crust, and that is difficult and can lead to the toast falling from your hand. But with only one dressing, you never butter half a side of a slice of toast."

"…I do not follow the analogy, master."

"This man…this traveler…he is delicate, Zuzy, like toast. We cannot butter him too much or too little. In fact, it would be more accurate to say that we cannot butter him at all. He must do that to himself."

"…as you say, master."

"You do not understand. But you will. I can see Goa in the distance."

"Crazy that it's only been a week, right?"

"Contractions do not befit you, Zuzy. Avoid them, as I do."

"You did not avoid them with Dareda."

"Dareda is beneath me. I must sink a little to his level to understand him."

"…if the other Dragons heard what you just said-"

"Did I speak in their presence? If I had, would I have cared what they thought? You give them too much credit Zuzy. They are just as beneath me as Dareda. Beneath you, in a way."

"_Me?_"

Dimolo turned to look at her, for the first time. The flecks of gold danced in his eyes as he smiled up at her. "You are _beautiful, _Zuzy. Inside of you is something those wretches will never understand. And when my tasks are complete, what is within will emerge. Your true form, the one you were meant to be. Never doubt the love I have for you, and for what you can become."

Zuzy reddened. She blinked rapidly, turning her head to the side. "Yes, of course master. Thank you, master."

"Anytime, my Zuzy. Any time at all."

The Goa Kingdom grew larger by the minute.

.~===)==============={%}

"Dragons?"

"Yes, the Draaagons," Dareda sneered, stretching out the word. "Ya can't kill a dragon. Ya can't fight one and come out unscathed. That's what you would be doing."

Volta glared. "I don't have time for your nonsense." He unsheathed his blade, pointing it at Dareda's left eye; that would be the insertion point. He had no interest in bringing him in alive.

And Dareda had no interest in dying. He darted out the door, and Volta followed, leaving the room of machinery behind. Across the ledge of stone, they ran, toward the remaining two bridges. To his astonishment, Volta witnessed Dareda jump onto the railing of the gray bridge, the one whose steps could not have supported Volta's weight. He skipped across it merrily.

Volta ran across that same railing, matching Dareda's stride. The killer jumped off first, twisted around, and slammed his hammer into it. The railing vibrated, and for a second, Volta's foot hung over the chasm, the railing jerking to the left and not taking him with it.

But he did not fall, for just as quickly the railing swerved back again. It was nigh instantaneous, as all vibrations are, and Volta planted his foot and leapt. He flew through the air, descending on Dareda with furious abandon.

First Blitz…LIGHTNING STRIKE!

It was a pretty lame attack name, as Zoro himself had judged when he first heard it, and Volta planned to change it. But it worked; all his energy, all his power, he felt it concentrate in that one motion, that one intent, and the blade shot forward, propelled by an arm shaking with power. Dareda darted to the side, but the sword found his arm, and skewered it. Volta drew it back. It was a thrust of stunning speed. When perfected, Volta was certain it would be as fast as a bullet. Perhaps faster.

But the wound did not slow Dareda at all. Volta lashed out, his ink wrapping around the killer's body, pulling him back.

But Dareda was prepared. As the ink continued to tug at him, he let his body go limp, and the ink sailed back toward Volta faster than he could handle. They collided, and as they did so, Dareda brought his hammer down upon Volta's skull.

Or, he tried too. The pommel of Blitzeinschlag rose to defend, and the hammer bounced off it. This time Dareda felt the shiver of vibrations, up his arm and into his shoulder. He darted back.

And Volta was upon him. He understood in that moment the killer's ways; attacks from behind, sudden strikes, always with surprise on his side. Without it, he wasn't very strong.

Volta's blade struck out like a viper, and three more cuts appeared, at the knees and other arm. Dareda collapsed, screaming curses.

It was, in Volta's estimation, a disappointing anti-climax, for everything they had gone through.

"It's over," he said, voice a growl. "Once I'm done with you, I'm shutting this place down."

"You can't!" Dareda roared. "Only _I _know how to work the gears that make this place turn! If you want to shut it down, you _need _me!"

Volta impaled him through the throat. "I'm sure I can figure it out," he growled. "Go to hell." He yanked the blade out, watching with some satisfaction as the body flopped gracelessly to the ground, shaking like a leaf.

To Volta's horror, the shaking grew more violent, not less, until the body almost started vibrating itself. Petals burst from the wounds, the mouth, the nose, rupturing out from the skin, covering the body and turning it into a flower pre-bloom.

Volta jumped back, ready for another attack, but it did not come. Instead the petals fell away, becoming golden dust in the wind, revealing a very different corpse. Fat, its features puffy, a big man as opposed to Dareda's gangly frame.

"What the hell…"

A sudden panic gripped Volta, as the full magnitude of the trick impacted him. He raced back toward the control room, over the railing and chasm, through the door, and-

Dareda stood in its center, hands clutching at levers. His hands were fine, but a quick smile Volta's way displayed teeth just as rotten as before.

"Why hello there. And goodbye!" Dareda pulled the levers.

The floor opened up beneath Volta, and for the second time that day, he experienced the helplessness of falling, only this time with the grim certainty that there would be much worse than fire at the bottom.

He was right; beneath the control room, perhaps even lower than all the other rooms of the labyrinth, a great depository lay.

A depository of _corpses_.

.~===)==============={%}

The water now reached his knees, and Drogon was beginning to feel the pressure of the wind constantly. It never let up, never stopped changing direction. It felt like getting slapped upside the head, and then downside before you had a chance to recover.

Blood dripped from his knuckles, splinters of stones imbedded in them. Almost a hundred gargoyles now, and still no sign of the bastard, his voice ringing in Drogon's ears.

A crack of a gun, and Drogon darted away. The bullet shattered the wing of one of the last statues standing.

"_I'm impressed that you've held on for this long," _The voice chuckled. _"A few nobles have passed through this room, but none came as close as you have."_

He was close? Sure as hell didn't feel close. Where the hell _was _this bastard?

Drogon growled, tearing through another gargoyle, the one the voice seemed to be emanating from this time. Nothing. The frustration he felt began to bubble over, and the mad martial artist tore through the room, striking randomly. There wasn't as much cover as there used to be, so he had ta be hiding in the ruins now!

Another crack, and Drogon wasn't as quick this time, the water slowing him down. It grazed his neck, only a little but enough to draw blood. For a moment, he was stunned by the slash of pain; a few centimeters more, and he would have had a hell of a problem on his hands.

"_You know, when I first got this job, I was concerned it wouldn't be very fun. All those fat nobles and dress-stuffed ladies, it's like shooting buffalo and lame birds. Where's the challenge in it?"_

"What is this, the labyrinth of delusional serial killers?" Drogon growled.

"_Delusional?! Don't give me that crap! What I do is an artform!"_

"You and Dareda must get along _real _well," Drogon continued, the beginnings of an idea forming in his head. "The more ya claim it's art and shit, the more I'm gonna call _bull_, cuz there's nothing artsy about murder, no matter how ya dress it up. And even if you _could _do something like that, then I've got news for you pal. _Ya ain't that good_."

"_HOW DARE YOU?!" _The bastard roared. _"MY HUNTING SKILLS ARE TOP NOTCH! I'VE VISITED THE CALM BELT ITSELF, TESTING MY LIMITS AGAINST THE MIGHT OF SEA KINGS!"_

Drogon felt stupider than Kibatto's weird food analogies, which was saying something. The bastard wasn't in the room, he was in the _walls. _The echo of his voice, usually distorted into omnipresence by the wind, came through loud and clear now that he was screaming his head off.

Drogon sprinted to the side the voice was coming from. A tiny flash was his only warning, and he twisted to the side, a bullet sailing through his hair. The echoes of footsteps, but Drogon was faster.

He planted his feet and roared as his hands tore through the thin stone walls, grasping at the bastard on the other side. One found an arm, the other found a shirt collar.

"_AAAAAGH!"_

"It's over you _bitch!_" Drogon pulled with all his might, and the would-be-hunter was ripped through the wall, shattered stone fragments flying everywhere. The rifle fell into the water, whose level now began to rapidly descend as the hole sucked it up. The wind quieted too, though Drogon wasn't sure why.

The hunter was thin, all his muscle concentrated in his arms. He wore a tan suit and a safari hat, and glared beneath a ridiculously long bowl-cut. "How dare you! How _dare _you!"

"I dare," Drogon growled, before planting his fist right in the hunter's jaw. He spun out of his hands and into the air, teeth flying, before smashing into the last gargoyle in the room, collapsing into its hollow ruins.

Drogon cracked his neck, which unintentionally aggravated the bleeding. "Damn, I really gotta think more during stuff like this. I was stuck in here for…what, thirty minutes?"

"Twenty-eight…"

"OI, FALL UNCONSCIOUS WOULDYA?!"

The room began to shake, a deep rumbling that tickled Drogon's inner ear. He looked around, unnerved. "The hell?"

The fallen hunter began to laugh, a rasping sound. "It's started…"

The martial artist rushed over, grabbing him by the collar once more. "_What's _started?!"

The hunter only laughed harder, broken teeth spilling from his mouth. "Why, the end of the Goa Kingdom. What else has Dareda been building towards?"

* * *

**Author's Note: College is tough, and it took a while for me to get into a comfortable groove. But now that I have, I think it will be much easier for me to meet my new weekly to bi-weekly release schedule. 10K for the weeklys, around 15 to 20K for bi-weeklys. Whether it will be one or the other really depends on how busy I am on a week-to-week basis. And if another longer hiatus is necessary, I WILL let you guys know ahead of time. No more shooting in the dark, I promise.**

**All five members of Slasher's bounty hunting group, the Street Punkz, have designs and personalities based on the mook bounty hunters from the One Piece Treasure Cruise game. So in a sense, they already have 'canon' appearances! Links don't work on this site, so visit my story on or Sufficient Velocity to see what they look like. **

**Slasher: Blade Blue Bounty Hunter**

**Buki: Bullet Green Bounty Hunter**

**Kibatto: Nails Yellow Bounty Hunter**

**Pogo: Gatling Black Bounty Hunter**

**Drogon: Brawler Red Bounty Hunter**

**Most of the villains are shout-outs to villains in JoJo's Bizarre Adventure, particularly St. Dimolo and his comrades. Can you guess who's who? **

**Yeomanaxel, the Verified Yeo.**

**NEXT CHAPTER: October 20th!**


	13. Goa Kingdom Arc Part 3

.~===)==============={%}

**Chapter 13 – Helpful**

The water rippled, and the room trembled. It was a tiny tremble, nothing but the subtle shifting of the island's plates.

At least, that's what Outlook wanted to believe. He popped another aspirin into his mouth, chasing it down with a swallow of water. It rippled again, this time by his own hand.

"Damn him," he hissed.

"Who exactly, are you damning?"

Outlook winced, now all-too aware of the priest in the room with him. His eyes, gray as morning mist, seemed to pierce right through him.

"Dareda of course!" Outlook shouted. "That bastard could bring the whole Kingdom down!"

"No such thing will occur," Peachy said. "You have my word."

The room trembled again, _just _a bit more violently. Peachy's expression did not shift, but he made no effort to hide the bead of sweat trailing down his head. Outlook didn't even notice, his eyes glued to his cup.

"Do you know," Outlook began, his voice tight. "Just how many of my friends I've given over to that madman?"

"I was not under the impression they were your friends."

"Acquaintances then! Rivals, but still acquaintances! Can you even begin to imagine how I will feel if their deaths amount to _nothing? _All that time and effort wasted, because you couldn't control your madman's deranged behavior! Why did you even have him build all that garbage under us anyway?"

"It was not _my _decision," Peachy corrected. "The master thought it best to appeal to Dareda's desires. And in doing so, your son's ascension to the throne is all but assured. I would think you would be grateful-"

"GRATEFUL?!" Outlook threw his glass to the floor. "HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO FEEL EVEN AN _OUNCE _OF GRATITUDE TOWARD PEOPLE THAT HAVE _LITERALLY_ HOLLOWED OUT THE KINGDOM?!"

Peachy _gazed _upon him, cold and pitiless. "A wise man would watch his words, Outlook. By insulting the words and deeds of Dareda, you insult the words and deeds of Saint Brangolo Dimolo, head of the Brangolo Family, Second of the Founding Families of this World. A Family that currently supplies this planet with one of the _Five Elders themselves._ Do not spit upon the hand that reaches to aid you, or you will find it closed around your neck, squeezing the life out of your portly, dilapidated form."

Outlook's tan complexion turned pale, his knees trembling just as slightly as the room had a moment ago. He tried to speak, but no words formed.

"Did you know that a Celestial Dragon once ordered a Buster Call upon a kingdom for the insignificant crime of stepping in its dog's feces? It was a stray too, hardly their fault, but it was enough to end thirty thousand lives. What more do you think your land will suffer, should Dimolo hear of your borderline _treasonous _remarks?"

Outlook said nothing.

"Nod, if I have made my point clear."

He nodded so slowly his head creaked, terrified to move too quickly, lest it be reported for some innate reason.

"Good. I will, for the sake of whatever innocents this wretched hive contains, forget your ravings. This time."

In a situation such as this, the logical course of action would have been to nod once more, apologize profusely, and vacate the room, intent on staying out of the priest's way in the foreseeable future. But Outlook was a noble of Goa; when it came to challenges of social standing, logic had deserted his gene pool long ago.

"I don't understand," he growled, some of his earlier bluster returning. "Why are you in his court? You're a priest of the Order. The Government _hates _the Order. You shouldn't even _have_ this much power."

The priest's gaze _burned,_ and for a moment, Outlook was certain of his doom. But his eyes cooled just as quickly, and he allowed a small smile to crease his lips. "Do you know the Teachings of the Face?"

Outlook swallowed. "I…I do not."

"The Face is blank, unknowable. I suppose our seers _could _delve deep into their visions, extracting the knowledge to chisel its features, but their minds would run from their noses if they tried. Thou shall not look upon the face of God."

The noble smiled. "Of course! A wise teaching indeed."

"Idiot. If you do not know the teaching, how can you know if it is wise?"

Outlook's eyes twitched, his face rapidly reddening. Peachy did not give him a chance to erupt.

"The Face is holy of course, but it is also malleable. Since we do not know its features, we often imagine it to be of someone we cherish, someone who exemplifies everything that the Face represents. Integrity, honesty, compassion. Righteous judgement."

"And…and you believe Saint Dimolo to be these things?"

Peachy's smile widened, and a new gleam entered his eyes. To Outlook's horror, he recognized it. He had seen it in a pirate captain he had hired, the year the Terminal had burned. The year he had lost his other son.

A gleam of _madness._

"I believe, that Dimolo could very well be the Descension of the Face itself. He embodies everything that I wish to aspire too, everything I wish to _be._ He is all I have stated and more, a man of blinding ambition and glorious repose, destined to bring this world and its government into a new era of peace and prosperity. The Pirate Age will be scoured, the Emperors dethroned, and the Warlords cast from their positions of false safety, to perish in the eternal fires of Dimolo's wrath! His judgement will purify the earth, and when it is prepared for him, he will _become it, _entering into its warm embrace…"

The priest trailed off, looking positively _euphoric_. If Outlook had been scared by his threats before, it was nothing compared to the terror he felt in this moment. He was alone with a madman, and one from the Grand Line to boot, a place where all men were said to brim with unfathomable strength and drink the blood of their enemies.

"Oh," Peachy whispered. "His ship has returned."

"WHAT?!" Outlook rushed to the window and saw that it was true, the Noble's vast cruiser drifting into the harbor.

"He did not stay for the entire Reverie," Peachy said, mostly to himself. "I wish he had. They are quite informative. Outlook, you have charge of the city guard, yes?"

The noble turned around. "Well, yes, but anyone from the inner city can command the-"

"I believe our plan is reaching its conclusion," Peachy interrupted. "When I give the signal, order Goa's militia into the sewers and have them execute everyone within."

Outlook blanched. "Even Dareda?!"

Peachy's smile returned. "_Especially _Dareda. We do not need him anymore."

.~===)==============={%}

With her final bullet, Buki put the tiger down. It roared and thrashed only a moment longer, before falling to the ground, shriveling as it did so. Paws and claws became hands and fingers, fur receding and clothes reappearing. In seconds, the tiger reverted into the puppeteer, just as torn up as the animal had been a moment ago.

In other words, he was dead.

It shook Buki more than she was willing to admit, seeing that large, shot-up corpse. Shot up mostly by her hand, Pogo taken out of the fight early by a slash to the stomach. Only his great girth had saved him from a fatal blow, but his cloak was stretched thin against the wound, still seeping more blood then it was saving.

He might not survive the day. And she had killed a man. Those two thoughts bounced around her head, until her ears rang with the sound of her own rushing blood. Her gun fell from limp fingers.

What the hell could she _do? _For her friend's sake, she wouldn't hesitate to surrender her modesty, adding her tank top to the staunching, but even with that, he couldn't walk. He could barely _breathe. _They needed Slasher. He was the medic, the fixer-upper. He always carried stitching in his back pocket, ready to suture a wound on short notice. But he could be anywhere in the maze.

He could be dead.

That thought, far from plunging her deeper into despair, managed to snap her out of it. If Slasher was gone, and Pogo incapacitated, then it was up to her to lead. Kibatto was too scatterbrained, Drogon too temperamental. She needed to lead the team to safety.

"Kibatto, you said there was a weapon room beneath us?"

He nodded.

"Drop down there and see if you can scrounge up anything to help with the bleeding." She whipped off her top, pressing it against Pogo's stomach. He groaned, the act of exhalation wracking his body.

"Sure thing," Kibatto replied. He climbed down the hole in the floor, back into the room of his fight with the puppeteer. The boards creaked under his weight. Why hadn't they given out under the tiger?

Buki shook her head. This was no time for idle thoughts. "Stay with us bud," she whispered.

"Heh…that depends. Got any cinnamon rolls?"

"…no. But when we get through this, I'll buy you a whole box of them."

"Make it…two…"

She nodded, eyes misty.

"Holy shit."

She whirled around. Drogon! You made it!"

"Barely," the redhead smirked. Someone was draped over his arm, dressed in a weird hunting costume. The actual hunter looked a bit battered, but not nearly to the extend they were. Buki could still feel a dull pressure in the back of her head, bruises and sprains acquired over the course of her travels.

None of that mattered one bit to her now though, because _Drogon was alive._

"Tear off your shirt! Pogo's bleeding out!"

Drogon rushed over, eyes widening at the sight of his friend. "Holy _shit._ Here." He ripped off his own tank top, layering the makeshift bandage. Then he noticed the dead puppeteer. He rushed over to him, ripping off his own tattered shirt. "Here, add these!"

Buki could have smacked herself. Why hadn't _she _thought of that? She'd sacrificed her top for nothing! Well, there was no way to fix that, it was already soaked. She caught the rags Drogon tossed her, wrapping them around the makeshift bandage. They were full of holes, and pretty blood themselves, but they filled in the gaps. The task didn't seem impossible now.

"Just you two?" Drogon asked.

"No. Kibatto is downstairs, looking for anything that can help. I have no idea where the others are."

The rumbling hit again, shaking the floor. Plumes of dust fell from the ceiling.

Drogon pointed to the man he had carried in. "This sack a' crap right here claims Dareda's gonna bring the whole damn kingdom on us."

"WHAT?!"

"That's what I'm thinking," Drogon said. "We're in deep shit if we stick around here."

"If…the labyrinth crumbles," Pogo rasped. "_Everyone_ will be in deep shit."

Drogon scowled. "Yer not wrong. _Shit._"

"We can only…trust…that the others can keep going," Pogo said. "Maybe they…can stop this somehow."

A look of consternation crossed the martial artist's face. "Pogo, you're still in charge here."

Buki frowned.

"Ya want me ta stay or keep going myself?"

"You'll…just get lost. We need…to stick together." Pogo smiled, a tight, pain-filled expression. "I think…Volta can…defeat Dareda…if Slasher can't."

Buki was stunned. Pogo loved Slasher, looked up to the man! "What do you mean?"

"Slasher…is strong…but Volta…he's _cold. _He doesn't…think he is, but…I've never met…a colder man then…him. And against…Dareda, I think…that's what we need."

"It's true," Kibatto added, emerging from the depths with a bundle of cloth. Buki could have wept with joy at the sight. Where had he gotten it all?

"The way he looks at people, the way he looked at us…he was friendly enough, but I didn't like it. Something weird about it. Edgy. Like a tomato that gushes too much when you stick it with a kitchen knife."

Buki removed the rags, replacing them with the fresh cloth.

"Ya mean _he _was the knife?" Drogon asked.

"Yeah, that too. He was the knife _and _the tomato."

"Talk less, help more," Buki snapped. "Kibatto, get back down there and throw up some spears and shields. We'll tie them together and make a stretcher. Then we're getting out."

Kibatto gasped. "But the others-"

"Can take care of themselves," Pogo rasped. With great effort, he leaned up. "Slasher won't die. Neither…will the other two. And…I know…he'd never forgive himself…if one of us died going…after him. He's the strongest…coolest guy I know. He's got this."

The rest nodded, their resolve hardened. It only took them a few minutes to construct their makeshift stretcher, and Pogo's weight wasn't a problem for Drogon and Kibatto. Carefully, they made their way out of the room, leaving the 'hunter' and the dead puppeteer behind.

"I was gonna bring him in for questioning," Drogon huffed. "No chance of that now. Let's get the hell out."

Thankfully they had a good idea of where to go between the four of them, backtracking toward a stairway Kibatto claimed to have seen while falling down the chute.

As they moved through the rumbling halls, careful to keep Pogo immobile, Buki couldn't help but wonder why he had said all that about Volta. Was he really as cold as everyone else said he was? She hadn't detected anything off about him, or Zoro for that matter.

"Guys," she began. "Why-"

The rumbling increased, now accompanied by an eerie groan. It permeated the hall, erupting into a series of cracks that danced across the ceiling. The hunters increased their pace, just before a section of the room above them collapsed onto their floor.

"RUN!" Drogon roared.

They ran.

.~===)==============={%}

Zoro awoke to a searing pain in his chest. The events of the past hour came flooding back to him, and with them, a sudden disappointment.

He had hoped his next scar would be a sword wound.

Ah well.

"Zoro!"

He tried to respond, but his voice was a wheeze. He could barely speak. Wait, what had happened to the dragon man?

"He's dead."

Oh.

…DID SLASHER JUST READ HIS MIND!? He was just like that swirly-browed guy from Tamago Island!

"You're probably thinking I'm reading your mind right now. Don't worry, I'm just very good at reading facial expressions."

Zoro began to stand, his vision consolidating. They were still in the golden chamber, the dragon man dead on the ground. The majority of his armor had melted and lost its engravings, but the metal elbow pads were still intact. They had been shaped into little suns, rays of light fanning out from a shiny half-dome. Was that branded on his chest now?

"We…need to get…" That was all he could say before another coughing fit wracked him.

"Zoro, listen carefully. Slow your breathing and put your hand over your chest. Does your heartbeat feel irregular to you?"

The swordsman did so. The coughing subsided, breathing techniques from his childhood serving him well. His heartbeat didn't feel strange at all, though his chest still throbbed fiercely.

"I don't feel anything wrong."

Slasher nodded. He looked a bit worse for wear. A large dark spot stood out on his blue shirt, near his side. Was that blood?

"A blow to the sternum can cause a heart contusion, a bruise to the heart muscle that can lead to further damage."

"I don't feel any internal damage," Zoro said. He felt relieved that there wasn't any reason to lie about that. He doubted he could get anything past Slasher if he tried.

"We need to move forward. There's a door over there." Slasher moved ahead, Zoro trailing. He breathed more easily now, but the occasional cough still troubled him. Maybe there _was _internal damage. Had the dragon man seared his lungs through his skin? Was such a thing possible?

For the first time, he took a good look at where he had been hit. His guess had been right; a sun-like pattern had been burned into his chest, which would certainly scar. It wasn't very large, only a bit wider than a golf ball. It even looked kind of badass. Still, Zoro couldn't help but feel frustrated. It wasn't like he was going out of his way to collect scars, but if they happened, he wanted them to happen in a _duel, _not because of tendrils of razor-sharp beer or suicidal dragon knights. Hell, the first one was right under his _liver_ of all places. It was like the universe was making a dark joke at his expense.

Still, nothing to do but to keep going forward, and learn from past mistakes. Not that this was a mistake that could be learned broadly, since most fire-makers didn't _charge through their own attacks. _Well, if he ever met another knight like this one, he'd know what to do.

They continued through the labyrinth, all the while hearing rumbling above and below. A crack appeared on the left wall, and both hunters picked up the pace, lest they be buried in collapsed stone.

"Zoro, I need you to lead the way. You seem to have, somehow, a better sense of this place than I do."

Zoro nodded. Good of Slasher to show some common sense here. He moved ahead of him, watching what was ahead with Wado drawn.

They moved around corners just as they had before, navigating the rooms. They had already traveled through most of them, with the exception of one filled with old pencil shavings, and soon they found the main stairwell. It swirled around and around, certainly hundreds of steps long. They climbed it, wary of hidden traps or weak sections.

As they moved up it, they were able to get a better sense of how vast the labyrinth really was. Each level branched off into many different tunnels, chutes and tubes like the ones they had slid down running through walls and ceilings. The stairwell branched off into staircases, leading to further areas of the maze.

And on the right side of the well, if they chanced to glance downward, a deep chasm would stare back, pitch black in its center. With every rumble they felt, plumes of dust and trails of rocks would fall into the chasm, from the levels above.

"This whole place is doomed to collapse," Slasher said, sounding spooked.

Zoro nodded, a bit spooked himself. The sheer amount of earth carved out of the island was immense. Even with backing, how the hell had Dareda managed it?

Another rumbling, louder than all the rest, resounded throughout the cavern. Zoro and Slasher jumped back from the edge, fearing it might collapse into the abyss below. They picked up their pace again, almost running now.

But even as they ran, Zoro only had to trace his hand across the stairwell's central pillar to feel the vibrations of the stonework. His fears became just as certain as Slasher's; this place was doomed to collapse, taking the surface with it.

And what the hell could anyone do to stop it?

.~===)==============={%}

Corpses filled the room, but it wasn't very big, so there weren't _that _many corpses. Volta grimaced as he crushed an especially large one with his landing. He rolled off, right into the embrace of a rotting noblewoman. The sick, warm feeling of her skin on his cheek nearly made him scream. He whirled around and kicked her hand off.

"Look at them," Dareda said from above. "Look upon their faces and know their crimes. Crimes against humanity, against reason, against all that is right in this world. All of them agreed to the burning of innocents, _thousands _of them, many years ago. Justice has been late, but it _has _arrived. And that justice is _me_."

"What about all the other murders?" Volta shouted back. "Were you justice then?"

"How could I not be? Every bastard I've targeted deserved it, even that fat tub of lard calling himself a critic. Did you know he never gave a good review to anything he ate? He never paid a cent for his meals, and when he had finished every last bite, he walked out and tore the place to shreds! He put places out of business for no other reason than because he could!"

"That doesn't deserve _death!_"

"Perhaps that wasn't a good example. Would you like to hear instead of the slaver I murdered, the one who kidnapped children from their homes and sold them to pirate crews, as cabin boys and forced labor? Oh, I took my _time _with that one…"

That _was _a better example, as much as Volta hated to admit it; he probably wouldn't have let the bastard get away either.

Nevertheless, this conversation wasn't worth continuing. Volta could feel his heart hammering in his chest, and his tattoos unfurled. They weren't as strong as they had been, the moment of rest slowing them down, but they still moved fast enough to scare Dareda away. They latched onto the sides of the hole, pulling Volta up toward the control room.

And then Dareda reappeared, a _gatling gun_ in his arms. It wasn't as big as Pogo's, but it was big enough.

"Die!"

Bullets tore through the ink, but Volta had already been flung away, into another pile of dead nobles. He scampered to his feet and jumped out of the way, dozens of bullets shredding the rotting flesh and crumbling bones.

"You can't stop me!" the killer roared over the gunfire. "I've already set the final stage of my magnum opus into action! The whole damn _kingdom_ isgoing down! Once this labyrinth collapses, everyone above will fall into this pit, crushed under the weight of their sins!"

"Even the children?!" Volta questioned.

For a moment, a look of shock flashed across Dareda's face. "…no. I would never go that far. They've been evacuated by Dimolo."

"Dimolo?"

Now the look of shock was greater, and soon replaced by fear. "Shit. Shit! I shouldn't have said his name…"

"Who the hell is Dimolo?!"

"YO̢U͘ ̵Ẃ̛͝OǸ̢T B̛́͠E͝ ́ALI̕V̵͟͏E̷ T̷Ó͜ ̸F̧͡I̷̡̢N̢D̷ ̧O̵̕U̴͜Ţ͢!"

The sheer madness in his voice shocked Volta enough to slow his movements, and a bullet grazed his leg.

"**̴I ͞A͞M̛ AŃ ̨ARTIST! ̴ ͠I̷ A̴M J̛UD̢G͘E̵ME͏N̴T! ̢ AND̷ ͟NOW,̨ ̨MY GR̀EA͢T͘ES͘T͝ M͢A̡S̢TERP̶ÌE͡CE WILL͡ B͟RI̴NG JUST͠I͜CE ̷T̶O TḨI̛S ̵FU̷C͝KIN̡G ̨ISL̛AND,͠ T̷H͡E͠ ̴J̷UST̴IC͝E͢ ͞THĮS̵ ̨PL̵A͟C͡E̡ ̴D͟ESE͞RVES̕!̀" ͏**

_Click click click._

That telling sound was all Volta needed. He rushed forward, ink lashing out and wrapping around Dareda's leg. With a yank, he sent the killer tumbling into the corpse pit, gun falling from his hands.

He too collapsed onto the fat one, and Volta was on him, sword out and striking. But Dareda rolled off just as fast, grabbed the gun, and used it as a bludgeon. Volta slashed the gun in half and pressed his assault.

Second Blitz, SIDE SLASH!

The blade swung toward the side of Dareda's face. To Volta's shock, he jerked his head and used the nail sticking out of it to deflect the blow. Then he rushed forward, wrapping his arms around Volta's chest and squeezing.

It was like a vice, his muscular arms crushing against Volta's ribs. They were nose to nose, and Dareda opened his jaw wide, sharpened teeth ready to bite at Volta's face. He didn't get a chance, inky tendrils slashing open the killer's back. He screamed, falling backward onto another pile of flesh.

Volta gasped for breath, and in that moment Dareda leaped to his feet, ripping his hammer from his belt.

**"̶D̴̸͞ÍE͞!"̶͝**

The hammer struck his side, and Volta felt something _break. _He flew through the air, blood leaking up his throat and out of his mouth. Corpses collapsed under his weight. His sword flew from his hand.

Dareda laughed, a wretched sound, and began running toward Volta, hammer raised for the skull blow. Volta could barely see him coming, his vision had grown so blurry. His ink had receded, and he couldn't make it come out. Had something else been broken along with his ribs? Something that controlled his power?

No. Don't think. _Move._

Volta flopped up with his legs and _kicked_. His feet met Dareda's wrists as the hammer descended, breaking them cleanly. The killer screamed again, hammer falling from useless hands.

And right into Volta's. He coughed up another glob of blood as he climbed to his feet, blurry vision clearing to show Dareda's retreating form.

"The difference," Volta sputtered, blood droplets spraying from his lips. "Between justice and your vile artistry, is a sense of perspective. Justice doesn't kill food critics for being corrupt, or butcher bounty hunters sent to bring you in. Don't you _dare _justify yourself with a veneer of vigilantism! You're nothing but a _monster_, and that's all you'll ever be!"

Dareda screamed again, this time in rage. Injuries forgotten, he rushed forward, sharp teeth flashing.

**"̶D̴̸͞ÍIIIE͞!"̶͝**

Volta waited, mindful of the hammer's short range, as Dareda closed the distance. Then he swung with all his might and smashed it into the side of his head.

Right on top of the nail protruding from it.

It was like the strings of a puppet had been cut. Dareda collapsed, and when he did, it drove the nail on the _other _side of his head in. Not that it mattered; Volta was pretty sure he had died instantaneously.

The killer's final scream echoed through the room before slowly fading away, leaving Volta with just the sound of machinery, churning above him.

He watched the body for the same shakes that had revealed the decoy. Nothing. He dropped the hammer, picked up his sword, wiped away the gunk it had fallen in, and pulled himself out of the pit.

It was over. And yet, it had only just begun.

Because now Volta had a kingdom to save. The great gears kept on turning, the great pistons kept on thrusting, and the rumbles kept on rumbling. The sounds, Volta sensed, would soon reach its climax, and something would give away. This entire labyrinth had been set up to fail, and its failure would shatter the city.

He studied the controls, trying to suppress his growing panic. There were dozens of levers and wheels, connected to other sections of the room with string and steel. It was almost senseless, the way it had been set up, and nothing was labeled.

There were multiple ways Volta could approach this, but he knew that a number of them ended in disaster. He could try to clog up the gears, stopping whatever mechanisms kept putting pressure on the island's stability, but then pressure would build, and in that building an even larger release of destruction was possible. He could destroy the control mechanisms, but there was no telling if that would do anything. And with no labels, he couldn't be sure of what did what, how the different levels interacted with each other.

Not for the first time in this world, he felt an overwhelming sense of powerlessness. The same feeling as when he'd been at Albedya's mercy. The same feeling when he'd first heard of Dareda's more gruesome murders. The evils of this world, like these gears, never seemed to stop turning, never seemed to stop putting pressure on the lives of the innocent, on the men and women attempting to stop them, on the stability of the planet.

…and yet, he _had _stopped Dareda. His twisted, construction-based artistry would never strike again. And he _had _stopped Albedya, his last act of defiance miraculously defeating the tyrant. And he had promised himself that he would defeat the future Pirate King, defying the gears and pistons of this story to prevent greater destruction for all.

How much was this, in comparison to all he had done, and all he would do?

Volta took a deep breath. He stepped up to the controls, and with great trepidation, nudged one of the levers downward.

Almost at once, the groaning changed. It wasn't as loud, as fierce. Some of the gears began to move more slowly.

…_really?_ Was it _that_ simple?

Volta slowly moved the lever all the way down, and as he did so, a whole section of the room shut down in response. Emboldened, he pulled down more levers. The machinery's motion ceased, the interwoven parts grinding to a halt. With the last lever, the rumbling began to fade, until it too died away.

Silence. Blessed, peaceful silence.

Volta slumped down, relief overpowering him. To his shock, he felt his eyes grow misty. To think that it had been so _simple._

_Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. _

And within seconds, all the tension was right back where it had been. Because buried under the cacophony of thousands of gears, buried under grinding and squealing and rumbling, had been another sound.

Volta strained his ears, desperate for the ticking's location. It was somewhere very close, perhaps even…right under the controls?!

_POP_

A single, loud blast, and Volta's ears rang so loudly that he couldn't hear anything for a minute. But he could see, and what he saw filled him with horror. The machinery began to move again, this time a little faster than before.

A failsafe. Dareda had never intended for this monstrosity to be turned off. For if anyone had tried, Volta realized, everything would just flip back on again. Desperate, and yet knowing it was useless, Volta yanked one of the levers, hoping against hope that moving it up would now do what he wanted. Nothing changed.

"Damn you Dareda!" Volta slammed his hands into the controls, several of the levers breaking or bending under their force. He screamed with fury, kicking the panel in a desperate attempt to rip off the cover, and destroy whatever failsafe measure lay within. All he managed was to dislocate one his toes, the shock of the pain so great that he collapsed onto the ground.

He lay there for a moment, stunned and sad, comprehending of his failure and unable to accept it. It was too much, to come so far, only to find no way out.

It was so close now…the rumbling would start again any minute. The island could be destroyed in the next ten, for all he knew. It was hopeless.

Like…like…

{%}===============(===~.

_Like those days in the briefing room. Those hopeless days, trapped in concrete, in bars and buildings, the deep-set walls blocking all sound, all light. _

_Hopeless missions I wanted no part in._

_Your next assignment will be in Ukraine. The target is_

_He's a politician from Australia. To eliminate him, use_

_The United States president has declared a state of emergency in the state of blah. You must blah_

_There's nothing indicating a threat to the blah, but on the off chance that changes, you are to kill blah blah_

_blah blah blah the time is blah blah blah eliminate blah blah blah_

_blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah travel to blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah eliminate blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah kill blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah do not allow blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah destroy blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah kill all of the blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah do not allow blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah all expenses to blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah pandaman blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah ensure the death of blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah kill agent blah blah blah blah blah untapped blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah kill blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah kill blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah destroy the entire blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah do not spare blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah kill blah blah kill blah blah blah blah kill blah blah blah kill blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah kill blah blah blah blah blah kill blah blah blah blah kill blah blah blah blah kill 197._

_…wait...what do you…_

_As soon as you finish your mission to blah blah blah, you need to kill blah blah blah._

_No. What was that last thing you said. Did you just-_

_Agent 197 needs to die. There is a sixteen percent chance of her being a spy for the Kremlin._

_…what the hell are you talking about?_

_Language, 513._

_How the hell could she be a traitor?! I've known her all my life! We were fucking _raised_ together!_

Language, _513._ _All explanations for our estimation are classified. But even if there was a zero percent chance of subversive activity, 197 has proven herself incapable of carrying out four percent of her assignments. She's currently seven years old. At her current rate of growth, she will not be able to meet our standards by the time she turns eighteen. You will exceed our standards several times over, do not fear on that front. But she will not. You know it's our policy for incapable agents to be eliminated by other agents, potential treason or no potential treason. Since you've known her the longest, you have the best understanding of her behavior. Use that information to carry out a clean and efficient elimination._

_I cannot remember my parents. Time and time again, I wondered if they had ever existed at all. I cannot remember my earliest years. They are lost forever in a haze, a cloud of chemicals. I cannot remember anything in my first four years. Perhaps my first five. I am not even sure what age I am._

_But I remember her. I remember Ana. I remember all the times we played together, the times we tested together. I remember her tears, after that first job, the one in…was in Seattle? I cannot remember that either. _

_…you…you can't do this._

_Incorrect. I _will_ not do this. You will. Eliminate Agent 197 by this time tomorrow. Otherwise, your performance records will suffer an irrecoverable blemish that will be detrimental toward your ability to meet our standards._

_I hate them. All of them. I was six when I started hating them. It's also the farthest back I can remember. I have hated them as far back as I can remember. _

_But what could I do? My mind was seven, my body fourteen. Strong, skilled, but no match for them. By the time I turned eight, my body would be sixteen. I had run the numbers, in the dead of night. Then I would have the strength, the skill, that I did not have now. Then, I would kill them all. _

_But now, I could do nothing. _

_Nothing but follow orders. _

_When it was over, it was my turn to cry._

{%}===============(===~.

_It was when they ordered the death of Lukas, that I decided I could not wait until I turned eight. My body was fifteen. It would have to be enough._

_I attacked then, there, in full sight. Lukas and Lea did not stop me, as I strangled the handlers to death. Both of them. The one who had spoken in our defense was lying, a trick. I could not find it in myself to believe otherwise. _

_I continued through the facility. Other agents tried to stop me. They couldn't. Other handlers tried to stop me. They almost did. But as it turned out, rage can be a good substitute for that strength and skill I was lacking. _

_It was close, for a time. Then I found the armory, and it wasn't close anymore. I left the building a smoking ruin. I'm certain Lukas and the others got out in time, but I cannot say for certain what happened to them after. The Varnishing hit just three months later._

_And then I was truly alone. For a long, long time._

{%}===============(===~.

Why was he remembering all of this now? The rumbling began again, louder than before. Volta barely heard it, his mind lost in the miasma of memory.

The ink spread across his skin, then bubbled out of it, into dozens of the thinnest tendrils yet. Volta watched them move listlessly, as if they had a mind of their own.

Then he screamed, for the ink had begun to form into the faces of the past. Lukas's thick brow, Ana's delicate features, the cold, unblinking eyes of the Overseer.

"Stop!"

The ink lashed out, severing levers and pouring down the slits they moved in. All at once, Volta could feel things he had never felt before. Cold metal, some of it churning, some of it snapping, washed by the ink, and the feeling of it traveled up the tendrils, back into his skin. It was one of the most disturbing things he had ever felt in his life.

But it also gave him an idea. If he could feel things through the ink, then maybe he could feel out…there! A small sphere of metal, rotating in the center of the panel's guts, ensuring the rest of the gears would turn, which would go on to empower the entire facility.

Volta crushed it, tore at it, let his inky claws gash and rip until it was destroyed beyond repair.

And finally, blessedly, the rumbling ceased once more, the room shutting down for a second time.

Volta had no wish to ever let it run again. His rage only fueled his adrenaline, and with this surge his ink reached across the room, pulling at the machinery that filled the space. Lesser gears were ripped from their spots, but the large ones stayed firm. So Volta redirected his ink, taking all that was upon his body and forming two monstrous claws, the largest ones yet. Already he could feel his control slipping, so he worked quickly, tearing off the biggest pieces from the wall and throwing them into a row of pistons. The whole set-up collapsed in a crash of shrieking metal, but that sound paled in comparison to the rush in Volta's ears.

A few seconds of tearing became a few minutes, and soon the room had been devastated, a wreck of metal and oil. The claws receded, and Volta collapsed against the panel once more, spent.

Now, finally, it was over.

Volta looked upon the ruin he had wrought. There was no fire, no bodies, and yet it reminded him so much of that building, deep in the heart of his home. A nightmare followed by liberation.

And abandonment.

"I shouldn't have left them behind," he whispered softly to himself, before slipping into a dreamless sleep.

.~===)==============={%}

The two groups of hunters met near the top of the stairs, and much joy abounded. Buki practically drenched Slasher in tears, wrapping him up in a big hug.

"Stop!" Slasher cried, a crimson blush darkening his complexion. You're not wearing a shirt!"

Kibatto threw himself over both of them. "Neither am I, and I want a hug too!"

"My ribs!"

Zoro felt a creeping dread fill his belly. Slasher's four companions were in rough shape, but alive. Could the same be said of Volta?

"Did any of you see-"

_BOOM!_

An explosion of dust from above cut through his question, and before any of them could even think to defend themselves, a platoon of Goa's soldiers burst through the opening, quickly surrounding six wounded hunters. The soldiers raised their rifles in unison, identical in their eerie gas masks and green uniforms.

"The hell is going on here!?" Zoro growled.

"That's something we would like to know!" a pompous voice exclaimed. Filing in after the soldiers walked a slightly portly noble, dressed in a dark blue suit and wearing a gold-feathered top hat. "You commoners are intruding upon this sewer system!"

"Bullshit!" Drogon hissed. "We were called in here to deal with a serial killer!"

"And where, pray tell, is this killer?" the noble smirked. "I do not see him. It is already quite clear that you lot are incompetent. The Marines will handle any further killings!"

Zoro studied the man. He had never seen him before, but already the swordsman detected something off about him. For a man displaying confidence, sweat shone on his forehead and cheeks, and the armpits of his suit were darker than the rest of it. His eyes darted around too much, and when he looked at them, he seemed to see past them.

It was a shot in the dark, but Zoro trusted his intuition. This arrest didn't make any sense…unless it was a cover-up.

"Real stupid of you to do this," he drawled.

The noble's eyes lasered in on him, face puffed up in rage. "Excuse me?!"

"Considering all the crazy shit down there, such as lava and dragon-looking knights with fiery swords, rooms full of blades and spiders, we kinda assumed Dareda had some sort of financer. No way a killer on the run could afford or build all that."

The noble's face went from red to pale in just a few seconds, and Slasher's eyes widened with sudden understanding. The others weren't far behind.

"What are you talking about?" the noble squeaked. "What spiders, what lava?"

"You're a terrible liar," Zoro continued. He gave Slasher a pointed look, rubbing the butt of his hilt. He quickly glanced back, hoping the man had caught his intent. "First of all, Marines aren't allowed on this island, so they can't handle anything unless you guys let them on, which I know you won't. I've heard quite a few things about this place, and considering the stance on Justice most Marines take these days, all your asses put together could fill one those fancy front lawns you have."

The noble was quivering now. "How…how _dare _you! I am Outlook III, head of-"

Zoro didn't bother with an attack name. He merely whipped out Wado, turned on his heel, and slashed the barrels off half the rifles being pointed at them. And Slasher got the rest.

The soldiers broke rank immediately, dropping their useless weapons and scattering to the corners of the room. Damn, and Zoro had thought Outlook had been pale _before_.

"Nobles are rich, aren't they?" Zoro asked, a dark smile spreading over his face. "They have a _lot _of extra money to blow."

"And they're quite often power-hungry," Slasher added, his own demeanor growing darker by the second. "I've done my research, and a lot of the nobles that fell into Dareda's death maze were in or close to the king's inner circle. So are you. What would you be now, with so many positions freed up?"

Zoro frowned. He hadn't thought of that, but it only re-confirmed his suspicions. That, and the fact that the dude was shaking like a leaf caught in a tempest. A dark spot was beginning to form on his pants.

Drogon cracked his knuckles. "In case it wasn't clear enough, we think yer full'a shit, so we're gonna pound it outta you."

"I second that notion," Kibatto scowled, who began cracking _his _knuckles. Buki cracked her knuckles as well. Slasher stared at them for a minute, before shrugging and cracking his knuckles as well.

…well, fuck, better follow the trend. Zoro cracked his knuckles too.

And apparently that was the last crack Outlook could take before _he _cracked. He turned around and sprinted out the opening, his platoon right behind him.

Drogon tried to go after them, but Slasher held him back. "We'll bust him later," he said. "First, we need to wait for Volta to catch up with us."

The unwavering certainty of his survival startled Zoro, but it filled him with relief.

"Did you two get Dareda?" Buki asked.

"No," Slasher replied. "We never even saw him."

"Volta will take care of him," Zoro stated confidently. "In fact, he may already have. Whatever plans that madman had with those rumblings may have disappeared with them."

"I'm relieved the quakes have ceased as well," Pogo murmured from his stretcher. The big guy looked horrible, but Zoro had seen people come back from worse.

Then again, even better people had died to less…

"We need to take Pogo to a hospital," Zoro stated firmly. "We shouldn't be dawdling like this."

"And leave Volta alone?" Kibatto questioned, eyebrow raised. "You two are partners."

Zoro smiled. "I'm not worried, and neither should you be. There's no one I trust more than him to survive."

But even as he said the words, his gut twisted. Something felt wrong, and as soon as Pogo was secure in a hospital bed, he'd rush right back.

.~===)==============={%}

Volta awoke to darkness. Gingerly, he picked himself up, letting his eyes adjust to the room's new light level before trying to find his way forward.

Once he was out of the room, he tip-toed over the same railing that had supported him before. It was only when landing on the other side did he begin to truly feel his injuries, and he had a lot to feel. He wiped blood and grime from his forehead, clutching his side. Dareda's hammer blow had cracked a rib, maybe even knocked one lose. The idea of a sharp object floating around in his chest filled him with dread, but he couldn't focus on it now. He needed to get out of here. He needed to find the others.

He walked slowly, pain radiating throughout his body. His legs trembled on occasion, as he hopped over several small obstacles. He had to climb gingerly over larger ones. Every step took just a little more effort, every foot forward feeling like an eternity. His vision began to darken, and he slumped to the side of his third corridor.

A sound, in the distance. Or was it simply the hammering of his blood pumper? No, it was more like a clock, or…footsteps.

Zoro?

He blinked several times, looking down the hall. Someone was approaching him, but in the weak torchlight, he couldn't quite make out his face. His hair wasn't green, so it couldn't be Zoro. It looked much lighter…

…

"…oor thing."

Huh?

A hand on his face, fingers pressed against his cheeks. Volta instinctually moved to swat it away, but before he could, his body _ignited_, flames burning down his head and neck, all the way through his body.

Volta wanted to scream, but all that came out was a strangled croak, as the fire burned inside of him. A crunch sounded in his chest, and his legs and arms jerked back and forth, like the limbs of a puppet with tangled strings.

How long did the burning last? Volta could not say, but after what felt like years, it abandoned him, leaving him cold and…better? Actually, he felt _much _better. He clutched his chest. The pain was gone, his rib restored. Legs and arms had been stripped of bruising, and the bad cut on his forehead had been replaced with a thick scab. A light scratch caused it to crumble away, revealing smooth skin beneath.

"Vegapunk is such a brilliant man," a voice said. "When I asked him how my healing worked, he claimed that our bodies are composed of billions of tiny little creatures called 'cells.' Apparently, I can speed up the division process of these 'cells,' allowing them to perform their biological duties faster. Those include all kinds of clotting, as well as the formation of new tissue, which is how the body heals."

Volta sat up, seeing his healer for the first time. Even in the dim torchlight, he could tell that he had a tall and muscular physique, accentuated by fancy white clothes. A golden, almost transparent cravat sparkled beneath his chin.

Then his face entered the light, and Volta was temporarily stunned by its beauty. His features were deceptive; one moment, they looked as chiseled as the rest of him, but another they appeared almost delicate. The freshly healed hunter blinked rapidly; it must have been a trick of the light.

"Who are you?"

The man smiled. "I have the same question. May I ask it first?"

"Damian Volta."

The man nodded. "Yes. What a name. What a lovely name." He took a step closer, staring down at Volta. The look in his eyes…Volta couldn't parse it. Was in pity, sadness, some sort of love?

Was it _hunger?_

A chill washed over him, one Volta had felt before. Back in that building. In front of _them_. But it was stronger now than it had ever been. Snakes coiled in his stomach, and a cold sweat broke out upon his healed brow.

This man…what the hell _was _he?

"You seem frightened," the man noted, almost absently. He reached into his shirt and produced a small carving knife. "You shouldn't be."

First Blitz, LIGHTING STRIKE!

Volta's technique had never been so fast. His sword shot toward the man's left eye. A clash of sparks. A sound like a shockwave. The pale hunter paled further, uncomprehending.

"This is such a lovely blade," the man commented, as he held the tip between his fingers. Fingertips that had turned black as midnight. He curled them into his hand, and flicked them, sending vibrations down the blade with such force that Volta couldn't keep his grip on the hilt. Blitzeinschlag clattered to the ground.

"What language did you just speak?" the man asked. He twirled the knife in his fingers, much the same way an old purse snatcher had. "It doesn't sound like one I've heard before. Is it the one you knew, before coming to this world?"

…_huh?_

"It _is_," the man purred. "So fascinating. _You _are so fascinating."

Volta tried to get away, but in an instant a black hand closed around his throat. He tried to break out of it, but it was futile; whatever the bastard had done to his hand, it was a rock, a _diamond_, and he'd only break his neck against it.

"What are you doing?" he rasped. "Who _are _you? How, how do you-"

"Shhh." The man placed a finger against Volta's lips, and it was all the hunter could do to keep from biting it off. "I need you to relax. I just need a little piece, understand? A little piece."

_Fuck that. _

Volta rammed his foot into Dimolo's crotch and screamed as he felt three of his toes break against it. The man seemed more bemused then anything.

"Please stop," he said, and despite the agony of his foot, Volta detected a thin trace of annoyance in his tone. "This will be over in just a moment." The man stared at him, _through_ him, and then back at his carving knife. After a moment's consideration, he slipped it back into his coat.

Faster than Volta could perceive, the man's hand was in his mouth, fingers pinching his two front teeth. A new kind of agony tore through Volta, his second scream choked off by the blood running down his throat.

The man smiled, the picture of boyish innocence. "These will do just nicely. I'm going to run some tests, and if they are not to my liking, I will return. I would heal you again, but my first one probably took a year off your life at least; the number of cell divisions in one's lifetime is predetermined, according to Vegapunk. Such a brilliant man…"

Volta heard none of this. He spat blood from his mouth and clutched his foot, tears streaming down his face. His screams had been reduced to a harsh croak.

The man stared down at him. Volta blinked away his tears and tried to stare back defiantly, but the pain was so great that he probably looked pathetic.

A look of pity crossed the man's face. "I'm sorry you're stuck here. I had no choice, really. The Raven demanded so much of me…well, I'm sure you'll understand. Does my use of contractions help you relate to me?"

"…go…to…oh…"

"You do not seem in the mood for conversation, so I will take my leave now. Do not worry, we will see each other again."

The prospect of seeing this man, this _monster, _again filled Volta with more raw terror then he had ever felt before. For a split second, the blond young man became a weathered, silver-streaked brunet, and Volta feared he'd fall apart completely. He couldn't handle this, not again, not with _him_.

But it wasn't him.

_Get a damn grip Volta._

"Your name."

The man paused, face already obscured by darkness. Except for the sparkle in his eyes. "My name?"

"What…is…your…"

"Dimolo. My name is Dimolo. Remember that name, for it is the name of the man who will become the world."

Volta had no idea what that meant, and he didn't care. He hobbled away, as far from the retreating figure as he could before collapsing. His toes throbbed horribly, his missing teeth stinging with every beat of his heart.

Well, he could get the latter back pretty easy. Just a few pints of milk should do the trick. And they'd grow back as crimson as ever.

…his spit! Volta could have kicked himself, if the prospect didn't send psychic spikes of pain through his body. He should have spat on the bastard!

With this last coherent thought, the snakes in his belly slithered out, forming a puddle of bile on the floor. Volta struggled to keep his head out of it and failed.

Hours later, Zoro found him. He sheathed Blitzeinschlag back in its scabbard for him, and carried his friend out of the maze, up the stairs, and back into the light.

.~===)==============={%}

Dimolo returned to his ship with a smile on his face, and two teeth in his hand. He entered his study, where his precious comrades had gathered. He set them on his desk, sitting down with a sigh. "My work is halfway complete."

Peachy raised his eyebrow. "Teeth?"

"Yes, teeth," Dimolo confirmed. "Bring me the Boiler."

The priest moved to obey. Outlook stared at them all, utterly confused and almost hysterical with fear. This did not escape Dimolo's notice.

"Are you alright, my friend? You seem to have soiled yourself."

That knocked Outlook out of his shock. A _Celestial Dragon, _calling him a _friend?_ A wide smile spread across his face. "I'm afraid I'm not well at all, your excel…ah…Dimolo."

"Friends do not need to address each other by titles," the Noble said with a smile. "Thank you for correcting yourself."

"Of course!" Outlook screeched. "My…friend, please, I beg of you, you must help me! I deeply apologize for my ruinous appearance, but the Kingdom is now in great danger! The hunters your priest tasked me with killing defeated my men and are now likely setting out to sea as we speak! If they alert the Marines to what has happened here, the freedom Goa was granted may come to an end!"

Dimolo nodded, a look of understanding and sympathy on his face. "I'm terribly sorry about that. Though, if I remember correctly, was it not one of my fellows at Mariejois who granted you exception from Marine jurisdiction? Why should you be afraid? You know the Marines cannot oppose us."

Outlook blinked, as if the idea had not occurred to him. The tension in his shoulders began to subside. "You are right. A thousand apologizes for saddling you with unnecessary-"

"The only threat to this kingdom is Dareda, and he is now gone," Dimolo interrupted. He allowed a flash of anger to reach his expression, and Outlook shrank back, like a startled mouse.

"He planned to cave in the city with his maze," Dimolo continued. "That was _not _part of the plan. A most unfortunate complication."

"If…if I may be so bold as to ask," Outlook stammered. "Why was all this non…ah, _complications_ necessary for my son's rise to kingship? All of our rivals could have been disposed of in other ways. You could have had them killed openly, and no one would have objected."

"Watch your tongue!" Cupajoe barked. "You dare question the-"

"Enough," Dimolo commanded, and the soldier fell silent, his posture straighter than before. "He has a right to know. Outlook, you overestimate your importance here. I did not bring Dareda into this for you alone."

"…what?"

"Wine please."

Zuzy was at his side in an instant, a glass and a bottle in her hands. She filled it and handed it to him.

Dimolo sat forward, his gaze piercing. "Outlook, there is a man here of great importance to me. A man whose body can bring about everything I desire. See these teeth that lay upon my desk? They come from this man, whom I have tested through Dareda and his maze. I wanted to see if he was strong enough to overcome a great challenge, and he has."

Outlook was incredulous, his eyes growing wider by the second. "You're saying…you're saying that you allowed that madman to build a giant labyrinth, one that threatened the stability of this entire _island_, just for the sake of a _commoner?!_"

Dimolo's smile disappeared. "Bold of you to assume that he's of common blood. He is, but does that really matter?"

"My entire homeland could have been destroyed," Outlook said, his voice lowered to a more respectful volume. "And then…all my efforts for my son would be for nothing!"

"You care for your son?"

"Of course!"

Dimolo stared at him, gold-flecked eyes drilling into tiny, bloodshot pupils. For a moment, Outlook thought he saw something in those eyes. Something that both reassured him and frightened him worse than the priest ever had.

And suddenly, Dimolo was smiling again. "Is your son…hmm…Stelly, right? Is he with you?"

"Yes. He's waiting in the hall."

Dimolo stood up just as Peachy re-entered the study. In his hands was something Outlook had never seen before. It was shaped like an hourglass held within a jet-black frame, but there was liquid inside, not sand, and the top was open. It sent a shiver down his spine, though he could not fathom why.

"What is that?"

"Nothing you need concern yourself with," Dimolo answered. "Peachy, I wish to hear the words myself, so don't do anything while I'm away. If you do, I will have Cupajoe hack off your arm."

Peachy didn't seem bothered by this in the least, merely smiling and bowing his head in obedience. He sat upon the ground, pulled a book from his sleeve, and began to read.

"Zuzy, make the call."

"At once," she replied, moving toward a snail transponder at the corner of his desk.

Outlook was terribly curious; who could that maid be calling? What was that strange device? But he didn't ask, not wishing to rock the boat of this delightful friendship he had developed. And with a _Celestial Dragon, _of all people! Why, with the right pressing, could it be possible to have Dimolo elevate his family to that status? The very thought sent a thrill through him.

"Daddy! Is it true, are the last of my rivals dead?!"

Outlook smiled. Stelly had grown taller these past few years. Puberty had not been kind to him, afflicting his face with all manner of pustules, as well as failing to deepen his voice. But in him, Outlook saw the potential for a great king. A king he could guide and advise in every manner.

He was, he reflected, a much better son then Sabo had been. What had gone wrong with that one? He had been of Outlook's own blood, the blood of his dear wife, and yet he had chosen filth and commoners over the wealth and royals they had promised him. How could a son do that to his parents, betray them on such a fundamental level? He'd had all the opportunities in the world, and what path had he chosen? That of a _pirate_, the scum of the earth! Just thinking about it made his blood boil in anger.

While Outlook would never say as such to his wife, he was secretly relieved that Sabo had met his end in the harbor. A horrible thing to think of one's own flesh, but the boy had been sick in the mind, determined to throw away everything that made him human. Who knows what horrific suffering he would have brought upon himself, had be made it out to sea?

Stelly had fulfilled all the promise that Sabo had discarded, and in this Outlook couldn't be happier. He deserved kingship, and now that so many of the inner circle were gone, it would certainly come to pass.

Dimolo led them out onto the deck. Stelly gasped in wonder, even though he had seen it many times before. Outlook couldn't blame him; the ship was enormous, even larger than the feared battleships of the Navy, according to Dimolo's maid. It filled the docks from end to end, taking up a third of the space all on its own.

The Noble smiled, more beautiful then ever in the sunlight. His wavy hair shone gold, the whites of his clothing so bright Outlook could hardly look at them. He walked over to the railing and beckoned for them to join him.

"Outlook. Stelly. What do you see before you?"

The teen nearly jumped up and down with excitement. "I see my future kingdom! I see my future subjects!"

"I see the Goa Kingdom, in one piece and safe from future disaster…right?"

Dimolo smiled and rolled up his sleeves. "One of the Seven Warlords of the Sea has a subordinate who specializes in stone. I will request that the Government make use of him to erase Dareda's work, now that it has served its purpose. The island's stability will be restored completely."

Outlook breathed a sigh of relief. He moved his hand to wipe a bead of sweat from his brow.

There was no pain. Just a sudden shock, accompanied by a long, wet crunch. Outlook paused, blinked, and stared down. An arm, black and glistening, had emerged from his stomach. Blood flowed freely, and the noble could see one of his ribs sticking out of the wound.

Why was there an arm in his stomach? Why was it black? Why couldn't he feel his legs? Had his spine been severed? Why did he feel so calm? Why…

The arm ripped itself out, and Outlook jerked. He tried to speak, and blood sprayed from his mouth. He tipped over the side, and as he fell, wind resistance forced the remnants of his stomach out of his wound.

He fell a very, very long time, for the ship was quite high over the water. When he landed, the splash tore chunks out of his ruined mid-section, the water darkening to crimson in seconds.

"Ah…only a little blood on the hull," Dimolo mused, as Stelly screamed behind him. "Thank goodness. What a _mess _that would have been."

"DAAAAAADYYYY!"

Dimolo whirled on the boy, green eyes wide and bright. Stelly's cries ceased, and he stood there pale and trembling, his pants soaked.

"Why does your family have such poor bladder control?" Dimolo sighed. "It offends my _sight._"

Stelly trembled harder. "Eh, eh, buh, gahh, ath…ath!"

"Are you having a heart attack?" Dimolo questioned, tone oozing with mock sympathy. "Spit it out."

"W-w-why?" Stelly blubbered. "W-w-w-what…what, I have, where, _why_-"

Dimolo's fist, still drenched in blood, closed around his throat. He raised him off the ground, eyes wider then ever. "Take a _deep _breath, Stelly. A very deep breath. Breath in for four seconds, hold it for seven, and release it for eight. If your timing is off, I will kill you."

What happened next, considering Stelly's normal disposition and the extraordinary events of the past minute, could honestly be considered a miracle. He was only slack jawed for a moment before obeying Dimolo's commands. The Celestial Dragon counted the seconds, watching as the now fatherless fool breathed in and out as tears streamed down his face.

Four in.

Seven hold.

Eight out.

"Good," Dimolo purred. "I see your survival instincts are still intact, despite _his _best attempts to exorcise them." He dropped the teen, who quickly skittered back from him, fear etched on his face.

But he was calmer. That was all Dimolo needed.

"Stelly…can I call you Smelly? You reek of piss."

Stelly said nothing, his tears still streaming.

"Smelly, why do you think I killed your father?"

"…I don't know." The words were barely a whisper.

"When your elders speak to you," Dimolo said. "You should speak up, so they can hear you properly."

"I don't know!" Stelly wailed.

"_Guess."_

Stelly froze, almost uncomprehending. Dimolo took a step forward, and immediately the youth spat out an answer.

"He was stupid!"

"He was quite stupid," Dimolo agreed. "But that is only part of it."

"He…he was soft."

"Indeed, but still not quite right."

A look of pain distorted Stelly's features, and he sobbed suddenly. Dimolo couldn't blame him; he was essentially asking him to insult the father he had just killed.

"He…I don't know, he was…unfaithful?"

"Surprisingly not, for a man of his standing," Dimolo corrected. "Your mother is also dead, by the way. I had her killed…hm…three hours ago."

Stelly absorbed that, perhaps a bit too well. Maybe he didn't really believe it.

"Let me tell you why your father is dead," Dimolo said. "Your father is dead because your father was killing you."

"..._what?_"

"Let me ask you a question Smelly. When was the last time you said something, did something, or believed in something that wasn't explicitly or implicitly said, done, or believed in for the sake of your parents?"

Stelly said nothing. He didn't seem capable of saying anything, so deep was his shock.

"I thought so. The truth is, you are not your own man, and you never will be. Or rather, you never would have been, had you allowed Outlook to control you."

Once again Stelly had nothing to say to that. Dimolo was beginning to fear he was stupider than he had assumed, which was already pretty damn stupid.

"Let me spell it out for you, Smelly. The only reason you were going to be king was because of the efforts of your parents. Not once have you taken the initiative on this, or if you did, Outlook made sure you never did so again."

"That's not true!" Stelly wailed. "They, they said I had promise!"

"A promising puppet, to be sure," Dimolo sneered. "You would have spent the rest of their lives dancing on their strings. And when they finally shuffled off this mortal coil, you would have continued to carry out their internalized beliefs and policies until the day _you_ died. By removing them early, I have given you freedom to become who _you _want to be, and not what they desired."

Stelly shook his head, denial clear on his face. "No…no, that, that can't be, I-"

"I had Zuzy put in a call earlier," Dimolo continued. "That call was to the nearest Marine base. They have been informed that the exception granted to Goa by Saint Jalmack has been officially voided by Saint Brangolo. My…_compatriots _may have the freedom to do as they wish without Marine interference, but I cannot say the same to you, and the nobles of this land."

And just like that, the look of shock was replaced by one of _terror_. "You…you _can't_."

"I _can_," Dimolo intoned. "I can do anything I desire. But you should be thanking me. By doing all of this, I have created the perfect conditions for your success."

And then, another miracle occurred. Dimolo stared deep into the spoiled brat's eyes, and _something_ stared back. Something that might have approached calculating.

"What do you mean?"

Dimolo chuckled. "Your parents, who desired control of this country through your reign, are dead. The protections afforded this land by my brethren have been revoked. And a great scandal is about to break out, this country's excesses and backstabbing laid bare. Had I not intervened, you would have grown up a spoiled, stupid wreck of a king, without the taste of hardship on your tongue! But now? Now, you have a _chance_. A chance to be strong, to be smart, to be cunning. You will need to _work_ for your kingship now, for there is no one to hand it to you."

Stelly blinked once, then twice. He nodded his head, but not in affirmation. He seemed to do it because it would topple off otherwise. "…but, all my rivals-"

"Are about to be replaced," Dimolo said. "All that groundwork Outlook laid means nothing now that he's not around to keep it for you. What age are you, sixteen, seventeen? No one in this city will respect you. No one will care for you. No one will give you anything now, because they'll want it for themselves. That's how nobles work."

"But…aren't _you _a noble?"

Dimolo chuckled, and Stelly's blood ran cold.

"Child, I am whoever I say I am. And at this moment, I am a teacher. And these…"

Dimolo dipped his hand in the blood pooling on the railing.

"…are my lessons. Stand."

Stelly stood, terror still evident, but now mixed with curiosity. Perhaps even excitement. Dimolo smiled; this boy had the makings of something after all.

Not that it would matter, in the end. But these were the little things Dimolo lived for. The things that made his human life worth living, before he abandoned it.

"Lesson one." He fingernail blackened, and with a swish Stelly's bangs were slice off, forehead now exposed. He flicked him, and the teen yelped. A slash of blood, his father's blood, now marked him.

"Don't trust anyone," Dimolo said. "Not for anything. The only one you can trust, fully, _inequitably_ trust, is yourself."

He flicked him again.

"Lesson two. Be kind. Be generous. Gain respect from others through your actions, not your words or your bloodline. Only by appealing to goodness may you gain true power."

He flicked him a third time, and Stelly didn't flinch.

"Lesson three. Make those you hate _suffer_. For if you do this, few will ever cross you."

"Distrust, kindness, and suffering. Those are your new values."

"But father-"

"Father is dead now," Dimolo stated. "I am alive. Listen to _me_."

Stelly trembled, but he nodded, face set. "Okay."

Dimolo rose to his full height. "Get off my ship. Return to your house and bury your mother. Then get to work. Abandon whatever connections they had and make your own. Their money and servants are yours now, so you can use those, but nothing more. Do you understand me?"

"Yes," Stelly whimpered. "But I don't understand! Why are you _doing this?_"

"Are you whining to me?"

"…yes."

"Honesty. Not always a good policy, but I appreciate it."

"I…I feel like you will k-kill me if I lie to you, your excellency."

Dimolo leaned against the railing. In this action, Stelly realized something; not a speck of blood had gotten on Dimolo's clothing.

"Why am I doing all this? Because, Stelly, as strange as it may seem for someone like me, I enjoy helping people. My compatriots in Mariejois cringe and gag at the idea, but I embrace it. I think it matters, the way we treat others, and the way others treat you. I think it matters, because without respect on one end, how can there be respect on the other?"

"Of course, I wasn't always like this. I used to be like all the rest, once upon a time. Why, when I was just six years old, I shot a slave in the eye, and then had her sister lick up all the blood that sprayed on the floor, til it was perfectly clean. It was quite satisfying in the moment, but looking back on that event, amongst countless others, I realize now that they didn't…well, they didn't mean anything. Was it a show of force? A means of control? No. It was just a random act of senseless violence, perpetrated by a random, senseless child. There was nothing to it, and it's the emptiness of it, the sheer _futility_ of such acts, that I have come to despise."

"Of course, if all goes well, and my dream is fulfilled, _all _my actions will have been meaningless. But I am prepared to accept that, and if it is indeed the case, then I want those futile actions to mean something. I want people to remember them, before the end, as the actions of a man who helped others, in the ways they needed most."

Dimolo stared up at the sky, a blissful smile on his face. "I am departing soon, so I have one last instruction for you. Do you see that little box, on the end of the dock?"

Stelly squinted. "I…I think I do."

"Swim to it."

"WHAT?!"

"Well, swim to the edge of the dock, climb onto it, and then run to the box. Sorry, I should have clarified."

"I don't know how to swim!"

Dimolo smiled, and his hand closed around the boy's shirt. "I see. In that case, I will make it a bit easier for you. You will only need to swim half the distance."

"_NO!"_

He flew through the air, and soon became as small as a bug. A screaming, flailing bug. And that is how the third and final miracle occurred in Stelly's life; he hit the water mid-flail, arms straight over his head and legs straight behind. He slipped under the surface, only to surface a moment later.

Dimolo watched as he dog paddled his way across half the bay. When he reached the other side, he turned away, back to his study in the depths of his ship. Already, the boy's resilience to challenge had emerged, after just a few short minutes without his father's influence.

What a wonderful act of helpfulness that had been! Dimolo made a mental note to record it in his journal, along with all the others.

The room was dark as he entered it. The blinds had been drawn, candles lit in the sunlight's absence. Perfect. The Boiler only worked in darkness. Already its fluids glowed a sickly magenta.

"All is ready," Peachy intoned. "Did Stelly take your lessons to heart?"

"I believe he did," Dimolo replied cheerfully. "His reaction was quite encouraging."

"Then, let us hope that this only further improves your jubilant mood."

With these words, Peachy dropped Volta's two crimson teeth into the fluid. For a moment, the similar colors blended together, and Dimolo could not be certain of what was solid and what was liquid. Then the teeth began to blacken, dissolving into two strains of darkness.

It looked a bit like ink, Zuzy noted absently.

The black strains traveled through the thin gap between the two halves of the glass, and it was in this lower portion that the boiling begun in earnest. The device began to shake, steam rising from the open top. Bubbles exploded erratically within. The darkness traveled lower and lower, settling into the bottom, before jumping up again.

A black cloud dancing in a breeze of hot bubbles. It was one of the most beautiful things Dimolo had ever seen.

Finally, the steam subsided, the darkness fading. The wooden frame around the glass began to warp, and a raven's beak twisted out from the side, open and hollow.

Dimolo and Peachy leaned close to it. They felt a hot breath on their ears. A _rancid _breath. They shivered in unison, pulses quickening.

The beak spoke.

**"̡̣̙͖S̘̟̩̱͞e͙͓͎͞͞v̢̗̳ͅȩ͓̝̀͜n-h͍̹̗͓̲́͠u̪̹̠̼͍̟̩n͇͈̝̞̲̜̮͔͖͟d̴̦r̷̡̘͔̻̕e̛̬̗͉̜̤͚̲̠͘ͅd̷̺̫̥͠ ͏̡̤̭̲̤͙̪̦̩͡a̮͓͈͓̕͜͡ͅņ̭̰̦̣͍̖͞d̦̬̦̼̜̮̳͢ ̰͝f̧͕̣̪o͔̕͞rt͔͈̫y̵̨̦̖̗̫̟̥̼̕-̳͖̤͎f̸̛̹̬̳̤i̶͈̯̲̪̳v̷̫̗͚̖ḛ͓͍̣̫̯̰͈ͅ ̹̳m̠̖͔̻̜͎o̧̖̭̜͙̞̙͕͝o̴̧̧̯̩͖̼̳̯̭n̛͏͙̱̫̗͟s͇͈̙̜͍͝.̵͈̠̻̞̤͝"͕̦̰͔͘͠**

Dimolo gulped, the words vibrating in his brain. A candle burned dangerously close to his cheek, but he felt no warmth.

"Does…does that include tonight's moon?"

**"̵̫̲̹̬̞̠̙Y͏̲̪̠ͅe̖s̘͓̮͖͕̮̖͜.̴̹̫̻̗̟͈̬̞ͅ"̜͚́͢**

The beak furled up into the frame, and the Boiler began to crack. Dimolo and Peachy leaped back, but it did not explode. The red liquid dried up, the glass aged to dust, and the frame crumbled away. Soon, there was nothing but a pile of debris.

The candles whisked out, and sunlight began to stream in through the blinds. Odd; they had been so effective just a moment ago. Unless…

Dimolo shivered again, and for a brief moment, he understood what Stelly must have felt, seeing his hand through his father's chest.

"Lady and gentlemen," Dimolo began. "We have a date. Today is the eighth of June. In seven-hundred and forty-five days, it will be the third of July two years from now. But seeing as we are counting by moons, Volta will likely ripen on the night of the second."

"A new moon that night," Peachy stated. "The darkest of them all."

Dimolo smiled. "How poetic. The Raven must have a flair for theatrics."

.͛̔̏̆ͩ̈͌̈́ͫ̒ͪ͗̃̌ͣͣͫ̓҉̶̧̞̯̝͖̣̘̱̣͖̜͎̯͚̬̪̗͜͝~̴̷̹͉̘͎̺͉̳͔̘̹̣͇̫̼̣̹͚̥̯̊̆̽̾ͦ̂̍̐͊͗̍͌ͨͯͨ͒̂̍̀=̏͌ͣ̈̐͏̷̝̻̳̱͖̻̜̫̻̗̹̯̤͘̕=̜͍̗̱̼̜̫̫͉̖̓̉ͥ͊̽̎ͮ̓́͞͞͞ͅͅ=̵̴ͧ́̇̓̓ͥͪ̽ͥ̾̚҉͕̗͓͈͕̮̬̦̺͔͖̹͖̪)̛̲͔̹̥̀̅̎͌̉̂̉̽̉=̹̻̻̱͉̰͓̖͙̼͖̌ͪ́̈̋͑͋̓͐͛̓ͩ̈́̔̄̏͌͜͟=̴̩̲̳͓̬͙̼͈̠̐̌ͭͮ̓̆̑̾͌̃̅̅̐ͮ̽ͥ̀̚̕ͅ=̊̂̐͑ͨͯ̃̆̉̑̓͜͏̥͍̤̮͖͖̰͍̗̜̟̲ͅ=ͤ͛͒̑ͦͦ҉̸̠͈̲̙̤̜̬͈͉̗̹̞̹̥̥̻͠͝͠ͅ=̴̰͎͉̭̗̫͎̻̮ͤ̏̽͒ͬ̀ͅ=̷̡̛̠̮͈̬͇ͨͬ̊̃̾ͬ̌ͮͮ̿͆̓̚͞=̛̛̜̠͓̞̥̣̆ͮ̾͂͂̊̈́̔ͥ̎=̞̫͕̰̗͈̳̟͔̖͛ͥͦ̾͂̓͌͞=̴̫͇͙͍͔̫̟͍̥̬̯͍̘̙ͥ̑ͫ̑̈͊ͪͮͭ̐̉ͮ͒ͮ̓ͥ͟͢͠͡ͅ=͔͓̻͚̦̥̘̞͗ͭ̔ͫ̊̌̀̃̑̓̍̽̉ͣ̚͜ͅ=̴̴̴̴̤̞̫̬ͦ̎ͦ̏ͪ͛̊̒̉̊ͬ̃͌̚͝=̡̨̨̧̠̘̫̞̗̘̩̙̭̖̪̭ͥ̽͐͛̓̚͟=̷̨͐̄͋̓̿͆͠͏̵̹̠̞̬͎͍̼̖̼͎̬͎͓̦̝̗ͅͅ=̷̸̢̤̜͎͕̼̮̭̞͈̬͕̳̟͓̯͓̥̿ͨ̉ͮ͊̑̓̌̅̆ͣ=̔ͪͥ̿̐ͮ̑͌͑̃̍̓̎͛ͭͬ͊̍͞͏҉͚̠̣̭̪͚̘̟̼͇̤͈̼̪͜{̨̛̝̬͚͕̖̫̻͉̹̹̖̝̥̭̳̫̺̜̮͊̏̾ͧ͐̆̌ͫ̑̑͐͒ͪ̌͋͒̀ͣ͟%͉͔̮͕̤͕̘ͫͭ̌͆ͪ̽ͯ́͜}̛̱̙̗̙͔͙̯̪͒̉ͫ̒̐̌ͣ̾̎ͦ̾̈̐ͨ̉ͯ̇ͧ̒͘

_Pain. _

Dimolo collapsed, a horrific agony burning through his chest. His once white shirt was _bathed _in crimson.

"MASTER!"

They all screamed in unison, but Dimolo barely heard. He suppressed the urge to cry out, as he tore off his ruined shirt. Strips of skin went with it.

Bold, weeping letters, carved into his body.

_DO NOT PRESUME_

Dimolo stared at them, as his room flooded with his servants. He stared as they carried him to the sick bay. He stared until he could stare no more, his body wrapped in white bandages and gauze.

"So that was the power of a god," he muttered, as the doctors reinforced his wrappings. A small chuckle escaped his lips. "Oh, if Charlos could see me now…"

"_Charlos_ is the least of our concerns," Peachy snarled, in a tone reserved for the worse kind of trash. "Master, you know you have my everlasting loyalty, but I must scold you in this. We cannot even _speak _of it, for fear of things such as this."

Dimolo nodded, his smile unfaltering. "Quite right. I was careless, and for that I ask forgiveness."

The World Noble sat up, ignoring the sudden darkening of a few spots on his chest. "Peachy, I believe the time has come to test my theory regarding the Life-Life Fruit."

Peachy paled. "No!"

"Yes," Dimolo said. His gaze was bright, the gold dancing more violently then before. "You forget, my old friend. I have a dream, a dream to become the world. And quite frankly, I do not wish to achieve my dream with a scarred body. It's time to see how far I can push my power."

Peachy trembled, tears springing to his eyes. "I…I cannot agree with this! You will die!"

And with these words, Peachy bore witness to an expression Dimolo had never made before. A look of pure, unbridled _resolve._

And just as quickly, it became a childish smile.

"Do not presume."

And with these words, Dimolo threw back his head and laughed.

* * *

**Author's Notes**

**It's a bit late and a bit under what I hoped for, but I don't think I've ever had so much fun writing before. I hope you all experience what I felt working on this.**

**Yeomanaxel, the Verified Yeo. **


	14. Clockwork Island Arc Part 1

**Chapter 14 – The Thief Brothers**

Zoro wanted to train, but Slasher wouldn't let him. Perhaps, another day, he would have tried to fight, but he had much on his mind and heart.

Volta still slept, but it did not look an easy sleep, his face screwed tight in pain, figure twitching and contorting. Two days they had been traveling now, and he showed no signs of waking. Zoro did not give into fear easily, but with every hour he found it hard to shake the worries from his mind.

Training. That had always been his escape, letting his troubles sweat out of him. With every kata, push-up, squat and lunge, every twist of his body and pump of his arm, the worries went away. But for once he found himself caught in a bind over this. If he went to train, he would feel better, but Volta could wake up without him by his side, and he was uncertain of what he would do. And if he stayed, his worries deepened, grew harder to deny.

That his friend may be lost or gone in some permanent manner, so soon after meeting him; it was something Zoro couldn't accept.

When had he started overthinking like this? He never had before, when it had just been him against the world, against the expectations of what a young man from nowhere could accomplish on this blasted ocean.

He couldn't take it anymore. With a jump to his feet, he set out to the deck, Slasher be damned. Some light exercises couldn't hurt, and his injuries were minor anyway. The sun burned into his upper chest still itched on occasion, but it had finished scarring, and now stood in dark, reddish contrast to the light tan of his skin. His disappointment had given way to appreciation; sword slash or not, he had a cool scar, nearly a piece of art. Whoever had made that elbow guard must have been a skilled craftsman.

Zoro meditated first, sitting cross-legged on the deck. The hard, splintered wood stabbed through his pants and into his legs, and in this, the swordsman found a measure of peace. Pain, constant and invigorating, always pushing him forward. Victory without pain meant little, which made every training session another small win on the road to being the Greatest Swordsman. An ideology formed outside of Sensei's teachings, and one he likely wouldn't approve of. But he had his own path to follow now.

Meditation complete and worries filtered, he stood, and moved, body sliding into a position he had practiced a thousand times before. Maybe two. His hands gripped the air as if it was his hilt, and he flowed into a sequence of fast, efficient motions. Ittoryu, the One Sword Style, easy to perform but difficult to master. Zoro found it more challenging than his usual forms, without the usual weight and grit that accompanied a sword in his teeth and a second blade in his hands. But it made for good warm-ups.

"What are you doing?"

Zoro finished his final movement, a swipe that displaced the air with an audible _swish. _He almost sheathed his non-existent sword, only to realize how stupid that would look, so he placed his hands in his pockets.

"I'm good for training now. Haven't had a chance to since we left Goa."

"Your injuries aren't fully healed. I've reminded you of this _thrice_ now."

Slasher wasn't in great shape himself, his sides wrapped tight. He had taken a bad stab there, but nothing vital had been breached. A few bruises and burns covered his arms, and another bandage encased his forehead, though Zoro didn't remember him getting injured there.

"How are the others?"

Slasher sighed. "They'll live. Used up all my stitches for Pogo, but that man's been through worse. He'll bounce in a few weeks."

At one point in his life, Zoro couldn't have imagined worse than having one's stomach opened, held together by itching pink fabric in the darkness of a dirty sewer. That is until he had to consider the chance of getting eaten by one of those chicken monsters. And the chance of drowning in beer. A_nd _of getting roasted alive.

Wow, Volta had taken him to some crazy places, hadn't he?

"Volta?"

"Hasn't improved since you were in there three minutes ago."

Zoro bit back a curse. His worries rallied, and he nearly sunk back into his routine, but that would be rude. He had more questions anyway.

"Where are we going?"

"Nowhere. Just sailing around for a bit, until we can get back on our feet and ready for our next job."

Zoro nodded. "All that effort, and we never saw a cent. I'm sorry about that."

Slasher shrugged. "Wasn't your fault. The situation was fucked from the start, and it's not like we had a body to prove anything. After a certain point, you need to prioritize living to see tomorrow over gaining the money to buy it."

Zoro chuckled. "I didn't know you could buy tomorrow."

"With enough money, you can buy anything. I learned that from my father."

"What kind of man was he?"

Slasher frowned, taking a seat on the deck by the railing. Zoro sat with him.

"He was…a hard man. But not cruel. He smiled when there was something to smile about, but never otherwise. He wasn't a jokester or a player, or a man with a dream beyond the security of his family."

Zoro nodded. "I can't imagine he was happy with your line of work."

"Not at all. Oh man, the _fit _he threw, you should have been there! But it wasn't as bad as when he found out what my brother joined."

"You have a brother?"

Slasher nodded. "Twin, looks like me but we're fraternal. A bit bigger, more muscled."

Zoro almost laughed at the image of a bigger, more muscular Slasher, already a very big, very muscular man. It was like envisioning Sensei with square glasses; not impossible, but it felt like it should be.

"What does he do?"

"He joined the Order."

The brevity and casualness of the sentence startled Zoro. He'd encountered a convert before, only days from the dojo, the Order's pin gleaming on his shirt. The mention of his affiliation had agonized the man, as if he'd made mention of a murder, or some other cruel act from his past.

"Holy Order's serious business."

Slasher nodded. "You know them?"

"Met one once. A bit of a creep, but that was likely on him, not them. Had the pin."

"When Basher showed up with it, dad hit the roof. Literally, punched a hole in the damn thing. Kicked him out and told him to stay out, unless he threw away the pin."

Zoro winced, more so at the name then the actions of his father. "Hard is right. Why was he so against it?"

The hunter seemed to sink into himself, posture lowered, as if fearful of being overheard. Zoro looked behind him, toward the helm. Drogon, least injured among them, was at the wheel, and he made no movement that indicated overhearing them.

"My father was a Marine once, when he was young. Fought in the Face Raids. Saw things he said will never leave him, things he wouldn't talk about."

"Maybe if he had, your brother wouldn't have joined up."

Slasher shrugged. "Maybe. There are a lot of things that could have turned that situation around, but Basher was insistent, said they had an honorable mission that he wanted to be a part of."

"Spreading the word of the…what is it they worship again?"

"The Visage," Slasher answered. "Called the Order of the Holy Visage for a reason."

"Where I'm from they call them Blankfaces." Zoro didn't recall much talk of them in the village, and never around the dojo. They hadn't ever visited his island.

Slasher nodded, more vigorously this time. "That's right. Blackfaces, Ironskins, Holy Order, Order of Holy Idiots. They've got a dozen names in the East alone. They're called much worse in the North I hear."

Zoro stroked his chin, an idea taking shape. "Do they have strong swordsmen?"

The hunter snorted. "Strong swordsmen? Some of them can _pull _you in half, like hot taffy. They say the strongest one can kill an Admiral."

Zoro frowned. "Don't really know much about the Marines either. Are those guys strong?"

Slasher laughed, patting him on the shoulder. "How long did you say you we've been out at sea?"

Zoro swatted the hand, without anger. Slasher's teasing felt playful, not condescending. The swordsman had needed only a few months to tell the difference.

The wind picked up, the door opened, and Volta stepped out.

Zoro was on his feet in an instant. "Volta! Are you alright?"

He did look better, but not in the way Zoro had hoped. His pain-stricken face had given way to a dull-eyed flatness. He leaned heavily on the rail, foot wrapped tight. He smiled, but it did nothing to reassure the swordsman, not when his more prominent teeth weren't a part of the assembly.

"Shoro." His words slurred, no front teeth to support them.

"Yeah?"

"Where are we going?"

Slasher stood up. "Just sailing around at the moment."

Volta shook his head. "Shat's not acsheptable."

The hunter narrowed his eyes. "Last I checked, it's not your ship."

"If you want to keep shailing you can, but I need to be chropped off somewhere. Shoro and I."

"I didn't agree to this," Zoro said.

"Shat's fine. You didn't need to."

The hell? Zoro glanced at Slasher, who looked back with just as much confusion. Volta stared at them impassively. No, he stared _past _them, into something in the distance. Zoro turned to look and saw only more ocean. The sun had begun to set, and the sky-blue sky had begun its daily fade into yellow.

"I got here on May fifsh," Volta said. "Shat's the day we met, Shoro. It has a speshial place in my heart."

Zoro blinked. "That's…good to know."

Pale and haggard, he hopped forward, nearly bent over the railing. His eyes never left theirs.

"May fifsh, I met you. May shith, we left the hoshpital, went after that tree. Got caught up in the Bowi bushness, didn't leave Beer Town until the eleventh. Arrived on Tamago Island on the chwelfth, took the tree back to Retashu on the thirteenth. Got the hat the next day. Arrived on Coshia the day after that, the fifteensh."

It was a little unnerving, how well he could recite the dates of their adventures. Zoro wasn't one for keeping track of things like that.

"Volta-"

"Not finished. Met Johnny and Yoshaku, took down Dick, reshted for a few days. Training started the twentieth, lashted six weeks. Took another week to travel to Goa. Everything that happened shere…took one day."

He didn't sound like he believed it, that so much horror could be condensed in so little time. Zoro understood the feeling.

"How long have I been out?"

"Two days."

Volta digested this. Zoro could see the hunger in his eyes, the raw need for more information.

"The tenth then. July tenth. Sishty-sish days since the fifsh."

The words had no emotion behind them, no sense of urgency. Volta kept staring, and Zoro could only wonder what he saw.

Volta laughed, without warning or restraint. The two hunters before him nearly jumped from the sound.

"Ffffphahaha! A curshed number! How perfect!"

"Sixty-six is cursed?" Zoro asked.

"In some places," Volta answered. "In others, it was four. My home had many regions, all with different customs. You wouldn't have liked it there. Imposhible to navigate it all."

Zoro snorted. "I can navigate just fine."

"No you can't."

"No you can't."

"You can't navigate _shit!_" Drogon roared.

"How the hell would you know?!" Zoro roared back. "You haven't even seen me navigate!"

"I'm just piling on because I can, fucker!"

Slasher laughed, and Zoro stomped back into the ship, steam pouring from his ears. "Volta, we'll talk later! I gotta take a nap so I can get enough strength back to pound that bastard!"

"Good luck wish shat," Volta muttered, still leaning on the rail.

Slasher frowned. He ascended the stairs. "Volta, you need to stay off that foot for a little longer. Your toes were in bad shape."

Volta shrugged. "They'll heal. These teesh will heal to, onsh I get some milk into me."

"We have some in the galley. Get back in bed, and I'll bring it to you."

He nodded and twisted around, hopping back through the door. Slasher walked right behind, ready to catch him if he fell.

The med bay was stuffed, the hunters laid out in various states of disarray. Pogo was the worst of the lot, pale and deflated on an extra wide bed. He looked like he had lost a good twenty pounds, may thirty at the most.

Volta barely glanced at them, as he sank back into his own bed. Whether his foot moved or stayed still, his broken toes flared with pain. His mouth felt swollen, and his tongue heavy. The coppery tang of blood could still be felt in the back of his throat, and several times now the hunter had needed to spit some of it out into a cup by his bedside.

Slasher returned with the milk, and Volta drunk greedily. He nearly chocked on it, until Slasher snatched the bottle back from him.

"That's enough. Let them heal on their own for a while."

Volta nodded, letting some of the tension leave him. "I need to get to the nearest island. I have to restock my gun."

"What gun?"

"My scabbard has a gun in it." He pointed toward his hat. "It's in there, with everything else."

Slasher repositioned the opening, then slid the pin out. He vanished into it, the now familiar sucking sound echoing through the hull. He returned, the sword in his hand.

"I see it now. There's a little firing mechanism hidden at the end of it. Interesting. What kind of bullet does it fire?"

Volta lifted his arm, making a circle with his fingers. "Big ones. The kind that twists and shatter their way through people. Nasty sight, but it's effective."

"When did you run out?"

"Can't even remember. Cozia, maybe? Or it could have been earlier. I never had a chance to find out much about it. The swordsman I killed customized it."

Slasher ran his hand over the shaft, then around the handle of the sword itself. He unsheathed an inch.

"It's quite the blade," he breathed. "Mine's unranked, but still of good quality. Vastly inferior to this one though."

Volta was still unsure of how one determined sword quality. He'd never asked Zoro about it, and unlike proper cleaning, it hadn't come up during their training. He wondered if it had to do with how shiny the blade was, or if there was an edge to it that could be discerned. He'd have to ask him about it later.

Not that later was something he wanted to dwell on. Already Dimolo's face floated before his eyes, gorgeous and garish, like a painting at Renaissance Faire. Damn him and damn his healing. His throat constricted at the memories, the feeling of his body igniting like a candle from the inside out.

Slasher unsheathed the blade and set it down, staring down into the scabbard's abyss. "Bullets of the kind you're looking for won't come cheap," Slasher said. "Nor will they be easy to make. I can't help but wonder why you're so invested in them anyway. This firing mechanism shouldn't exist within this blade. You could get it removed, return the sword back to its proper dignity."

An accusation, subtle but there. Volta had heard a similar one before.

"It's my sword now, and so long as I take proper care of it, I'll do as I wish."

The hunter stared at him. "You've been a bit meaner since you came out of your coma. If something's bothering you, I need to know."

"I was under the impression that you trusted me."

"I trust you because Zoro trusts you and because I know what kind of man you are."

Volta sneered. "You don't know anything about me."

"I've seen that look before," Slasher said. "The look of a man who's seen too much. I saw it every day for the first sixteen years of my life. But it's worse with you because it's not just what you've seen. It's what you've done too."

The room had grown deathly silent. No snoring. No snot bubbles from Zoro. They were all awake, Volta realized, listening in on this little verbal spar. He felt his blood boil.

"Let me rest," he said. No, he _commanded_. "I'm tired."

He turned over, face betraying none of the pain the action caused him. Silence, except for the faint creaking of the cabin, and the gentle thudding of the waves around them. Then footsteps. Slasher leaving the room, shutting the door behind him.

"I think you pissed him off," Zoro said.

"I don't care. I can't _begin_ to care about anything else but getting off this damn ship. No offensive everyone."

"I'm sleeping right now," Buki said.

"Yeah, me too."

"Me three."

Were they trying to make a joke? Volta didn't know, and he didn't care about that either. He closed his eyes, letting his mind drift away from him. Maybe if he tried hard enough, he could forget the feeling his toes breaking, the hopeless horror of watching Dimolo catch his blade.

Perhaps he could forget how much time he'd spent in this world not hunting down Luffy and slitting his throat. Where the hell was he? His story started here, in the East, before moving to the Grand Line to find the One Piece and take the throne Roger left behind.

If only he had arrived here two years later. Why now, at this time? What forces pulled his strings, moving him about like a chess piece upon this vast blue board?

_Sleep Volta. Sleep. Don't have worries, have concerns. When you're worried, you're not in control. Always be in control. That's the first thing they taught you, isn't it? _

Zoro watched his companion rest and tried not to let his words bother him. Anyone who'd been manhandled as he had would be pissed. But who had done the manhandling? Dareda? Broken toes and ripped teeth weren't his style. Something else had gone down down there, in the darkness of the labyrinth.

But what? And who? Zoro needed these answers, but not now, not when Volta was so volatile.

He closed his eyes and allowed his own thoughts to drift away, sleeping for real this time.

.~===)==============={%}

_The sea had turned black. The sky had turned gray._

_Where was he? Where were the others?_

_The boat was gone. Just a platform, formed from the oldest wood he had ever seen, separated him from the dark waters. Every shift of his foot elicited groans from beneath him, as if the very act of moving brought pain and grief. _

_Dizziness. The world spun. When had he last drinken something? Water, he needed water._

_The spinning grew faster, and he collapsed near the edge. Hands moved to the water, dipping down past the surface. The cup he pulled up stained his hands the same pitch black, and it trickled away in thick droplets, back into the endless sea. _

_This wasn't water. It was ink. All of it. _

_Volta recoiled, and what he had collected returned to the deep. No, no, this wasn't right. Why was he here? What mad schemes did he dance to know?_

_Or…is this a dream? Volta blinked hard, then pinched himself. The dream did not fade. If anything, the sea had grown even darker, if that was even possible, and the sky seemed to bulge with dark storms and heavy rain. _

_Would it rain ink? Volta didn't plan on sticking around to find out. He pinched himself even harder, letting his finger nails dig into his pale skin. Wait, where were his tattoos? They were gone, all of them. _

_He tried to stand, but a rumble froze him in his tracks. A sound like a growl, or a hurricane on the verge of rampaging. The sky darkened further, threatening to drain all the light out of the dream. _

_Waves crashed with sudden ferocity. Ink splattered Volta, and he found himself sliding on the wood, now too slippery to grip. He slipped off, into the depths. _

_Incredibly, it was clear beneath the waves. Volta nearly opened his mouth in shock, but at the last he clenched it shut. _

_There was no bottom. The surface seemed so far away, a ceiling thousands of feet in the air, above a place where no air existed. _

_Volta couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe. Or the ink would get in him, kill him, poison him. A black shape moved through the depths, but he barely noticed it, so intent on keeping his breath that he failed to see it until it was sailing toward him, beak open and lined with jagged teeth, feathers darker still then the inky world it swam in. _

.~===)==============={%}

_He had to get out. He had to get out. He had to get out, out out out_

_Couldn't breathe,_ _can't breathe_, _no, damnit, fuck!_

Volta shot upright, and a wave of bile flowed out of him, drenching the bedding. He had no time to process this before horrible retching consumed him. He tilted sideways, body entangled in the sheets, slipping off the mattress.

The blanket twisted around his neck, and for one hideous moment, Volta saw his strangled body in the morning light, hung by his own stupidity, discovered by a distraught Zoro. But the covers were pulled by his weight and did not impede him. He crashed to the floor, and his leg erupted once more.

He screamed in pain, and in this could finally breath again.

.~===)==============={%}

"Land ho!"

Land indeed. The Jagged Crescent, despite its foreboding name, was one of the most pleasant islands in the Sambas Region. Its unique moniker was derived from the west facing beach, where patches of sand jutted out irregularly into the ocean. But other than its odd shape, nothing else proved strange about the location. In fact, it became an attractive resting spot for pirates and merchants looking for a bit of land to stop at, if only to give their sea legs a break.

It didn't take long for the rest stop to become habitual for sailors traveling along that particular route, and once it made its way on the maps, opportunists swarmed it en mass. The one that won out was an aspiring businessman by the name of Noop Mal, who claimed a stretch of the island as his own and constructed a resort on it, which quickly developed into a town. The money rolled in, and Mal soon became one of the region's richest entrepreneurs.

A stretch of floating cabanas was the first thing to grab Volta's attention. Next were the buildings, two-storied blocks of white plaster and pink-painted wood. The bright colors made him shiver. They were too similar to one of _those _buildings, on _that _island.

"There's a first-rate hospital here," Slasher said. "I'll check Pogo in. The rest of you guys can walk it off."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Kibatto muttered. "But first-rate means big bills. And we aren't big on bills right now."

Slasher smiled, a humorless thing. "Leave that to me. There're a few skulls to crack here. There always is."

"Can I crack them too?" Buki asked, exiting the aft castle. She clenched her bandaged hand, trying to keep a straight face. Slasher saw a hint of a wince but said nothing.

"How's your ankle?"

No trying to hide the wince this time.

"That's what I thought. You're a bit of a monster Buki but give it another two days before you go running in guns blazing."

Buki's face transformed, eyes widening, head tilting, lower lip ever so slightly protruding. _"Pretty pretty pleee-"_

_BONK!_

"AH, FUCK YOU!"

"Back to the abyss you go," Slasher deadpanned. He turned on his heels, ignoring the cavalcade of swears thrown at his back.

Zoro watched the resort grow closer with a sense of relief. After the last couple of days, a respite from life-or-death bounty hunting and mind-numbing worry felt like paradise. He could train to his heart's content, Slasher's prescription be damned. Again. Plus, he already had a plan worked out for how he'd work past the lingering pain of his injuries.

He glanced at Volta. Did he feel the same? His teeth were nearly regrown, and he no longer walked with a limp, his black and blue toes functional again in a shockingly short amount of time.

And yet, his face still bore the look of a wounded animal, trying to work past the humiliation of the wound. What could he say to make him feel better? Wait, why was he even thinking about what to _say? _He was a man of action damnit! All he had to do was train Volta so hard he got over it!

…except that wasn't how Volta worked. Zoro still felt like he knew too little about his friend, but he knew that much.

What had cheered Kuina up? Not much. She hadn't been a cheerful person in the first place, almost always sporting a stern stare or a wry smile. But she had loved training just as much as he had. They had been much the same, her and him.

Volta was cut from a different cloth. But even that expression failed to do him justice; it was more like he was sheared off of a rock, a piece of the earth that made for a good friend, but still remained rough, jagged, and cold.

_Damnit, the analogy broke down. Why do I even attempt these? Just train Volta some more and snap him out of his funk. _

With this mental commitment made, Zoro went back inside to collect his swords.

They docked at a small harbor off the side of the beach proper, alongside a dozen other vessels. Two of them were Marine caravels, dinky, tan-colored crafts. A patrol squad, no doubt, though one Zoro couldn't identify. He tried not to interact with the Marines anymore then he needed too.

"These beaches will be perfect for sparing."

Volta nodded. "I agree. Though we could also fight in the forests beneath the mountains. Or on the mountain itself. Want to try climbing another mountain, Zoro?"

He said it with a smile, but without much enthusiasm. Zoro nodded. "Sure would. A proper race this time?"

"Maybe."

"Hm."

What more was there to say? They turned back to the cabin, Zoro noting the little winces of pain as Volta put weight upon his damaged foot. Not as healed as it needed to be for a mountain race anyway. They gathered their weapons, and in Volta's case his coat and hat. They didn't look silly on him anymore, Zoro thought; they were almost as much a part of him as the tattoos on his body or the red shine on his teeth.

He couldn't help but smile. _What a strange, colorful friend I have._

.~===)==============={%}

The group disembarked slowly, a heavy-laden stretcher carried by the lot of them. He wasn't heavy to Zoro Slasher and Drogon, but the rickety plank made carrying him tricky. The docks themselves weren't much better. The resort's budget hadn't been evenly distributed, to say the least. One of the boards snapped cleanly under Drogon's boot, but Slasher was quick to keep his friend from overturning.

Once on the beach, the going was much easier, and they arrived at the hospital without any major incidents. A quick check-in later, and the hunters were free to do as they pleased.

"Time to crack those heads," Slasher said, cracking his knuckles with a smile. He took off in the direction of the bar, Zoro right on his heels.

Volta rolled his eyes. "Training?"

"Beer first! It's been _three days!_"

So beer it was. But not as much as Volta had feared. Only three bottles, barely enough to inhibit the green-haired swordsman. And once the last drop had been drained, the heads did crack.

Boy did they. Always pirates to capture, always bounties to process. A small crew, dozen strong with a captain built like a brick, but against the three of them, it was like a fight with five-year-olds. They dragged the conked-out swashbucklers to the Marine ships and got three million berries in return from the Ensign leading the patrol.

"This isn't enough," Slasher growled, as they walked back to the beach.

"It's something," Zoro replied. "We're lucky those Marines didn't take them out themselves."

"I don't see any other black flags flying," Volta said. "You could try hunting down purse snatchers. I hear the Marines give out change for those."

Slasher glared at him. "What a brilliant idea. Maybe I should swab their decks for them too, and kiss them good night while I tuck them in to their hammocks."

Zoro put a hand on his shoulder. "I'm worried about him too. But your stitching was good."

The big hunter brushed off his hand. "I'm not worried. Just…stressed is all. There's always a lot to do when you're the leader."

Volta nodded with a smile. "I understand your pain. I can say from experience that being the leader can be trying."

Zoro flipped him off.

A gleam, sudden and disorienting. Volta stumbled, and the stumble made the pain in his toes rage again. He gritted his teeth and shielded his eyes.

"What's wrong?" Zoro asked, hand on Wado.

"Nothing. The light got in my eyes."

"Mine too," Slasher admitted. "There's something over there, near that boulder."

He ran to it, close to the tide. He bent over, retrieving something from a crevice between it and smaller rocks. The others caught up, curiosity piqued.

A little windmill, metallic and glimmering in the sunlight. There was a little knob on the back, and Slasher twisted it. The mill's blades jerked into motion, moving clockwise.

"Just a wind-up toy," Zoro said. "Some kid must have dropped it between the rocks."

"It's well made," Slasher noted. "For such a small toy, anyway. It may have come from Clockwork Island."

Volta frowned. "Where's that?"

"About a week's journey from here. I know the surrounding regions pretty well, though I haven't been there specifically. Come to think of it, they stopped exporting a while ago."

"You keep track of that?" Zoro asked.

Slasher shrugged. "It pays to know the economy here. You can predict where the pirates are gonna go next if you know which areas are rich and poorly defended."

Volta noticed a ship beginning to pull away from the docks. It was one of the smaller ones, non-descript, save for the bright red sails and sleek profile. What kind of ship was it exactly? He didn't really know much about sea vessels.

"Hey Slasher, what kind of ship is that?"

"That one? It's a bilander, the same as ours. Huh, it even has the same sail coloring as ours too."

Zoro chuckled. "What a coincidence."

"…"

"…"

"…"

"MY SHIIIIP!"

Slasher blitzed across the sand, the others right behind him. Already Volta reached for his tattoos, trying to rouse them into action. They thudded across the docks so hard boards shattered in their wake, but by the time they got to their dock site, it was too late. The bilander moved at a rapid pace, churning through the waves as if the hounds of hell were right behind it.

_Like a carjacker pumping the gas, _Volta thought.

"BASTARDS!" Slasher roared.

The tattoos flared to life, shooting out with a pump of Volta's arm. In broad daylight, the hunter had a clear view of how they moved. Tendrils of black rope, liquid licorice, jetting out in thin streams. Volta could feel all the ink on his body pulling away from their usual spots, consolidating in his arm until it was as black as _his _had been.

It wasn't enough. The inky tendril reached far, but a good hundred feet still lay between it and the ship's back rail. Volta tried to extend it further, thinning it to increase the length, but would it have any strength left to stop the ship?

No.

"Too far," he stated, the ink rescinding back into himself. He turned, coat flapping, blackness swarming him. "Let's get the others together and work out a plan."

"All of our equipment's on the ship," Slasher growled. "Bastards'll sell it all off, ship too if they can."

"Dwelling on negatives helps no one," Zoro chimed in. "Volta's right, let's get the others."

They ran across the beach, spraying sand as they went. Already possibilities were swirling in Volta's mind, sharp pains in his foot ignored. Could it be the Organization, striking indirectly by stranding them here? Was this another of _his _ploys?

It didn't have the feel of it. Most likely a random shipjacking, nothing sinister behind it, aside from base greed. He certainly hoped so, at least. He didn't feel up to dealing with any big conspiracies or criminal groups. He needed to finished healing, further hone his skills and strength.

He still needed to cut that damn boulder, back on Cozia. That was the end goal, for now, the first of many on the road to snuffing out Luffy and the rest of the pirates poisoning the sea.

_I could abandon them, _Volta realized. _It's not my ship. It's not my business. These people mean little, in the face of what I must do. Everything I own is on me right now. Same for Zoro._

But Zoro would never accept that. And he could never abandon him.

==============={%}

ONE WEEK LATER

.~===)==============

The Crebe Region of the East is small, but home to several industrious locations, all steeped in knowledge of machinery.

The Isle of Pens, a country, people, and land dedicated to the production of, well, pens. Mechanical ones to be exact, some of the finest in the world, even by the standards of the Grand Line. The island's residents often claim that the legendary Vegapunk writes all of his notes with the aid of their craftsmanship.

Shuffle Island, home to the world's best playing card makers. Many competitors have tried to steal the secrets behind their unstainable, tear-resistant material, but the island's populace reveal nothing behind their poker faces. Masters of deception and bluffing, the number of fake processing instructions they've distributed is countless, spreading confusion and fury amongst the would-be thieves. More interesting still, some of Cipher Pol's most unflappable agents can trace their ancestry back to this land.

And then there's…well…we'll get to it in due time.

All of this Volta learned from Slasher, as they studied a map of the area within the confines of the magic hat. In the absence of a real one, they'd made their own, the hunter's blue shirt serving as a canvas for the pale hunter's ink, which Slasher directed with his finger. Drogon napped on the couch, mumbling softly about sapphires in his sleep.

"Make a little clock near the eastern part of the center."

"Clockwork?"

"That's right."

Slasher knew the length of his blade, and he set it on the table, using it as an impromptu ruler.

"A half inch to the right."

The crude clock obeyed, slithering like a stain to the spot Slasher pointed at. A half-dozen strands of ink connected Volta's fingers to the images before him, the delicate work putting more strain on him then he'd figured.

"Now, as for us…if I _had _to guess…here, maybe?" Slasher pointed to the same general section. "Just a few hours away from Clockwork. Looks like I'll finally get to see it."

"Bloody brilliant," Volta grimaced. He took another bite on his salted cracker, the only food they'd been able to buy in bulk with the money they'd had on hand. And after a week of suffering dry mouths and scratched throats, their supply was running low.

"We'll stop here and try to restock," Slasher conceded. "Maybe the thieves traveled there."

Volta shrugged. "Maybe. Trying to stay optimistic, but-"

"It's a_ fucking _mess," Slasher moaned. "With Pogo still stuck in the hospital on Jagged, we don't have our full strength in case these thieves prove to be strong. And I'm sure they've figured out how to work the cannons at this point. Can you imagine the ship-to-ship combat?"

"What combat?" Volta questioned. "We're riding around in a duck."

"EXACTLY!"

"Hey, mapheads!"

The two hunters stared up at the giantess Buki appeared as.

"How many more boxes of salted crackers do you have in there?"

Volta looked around. "About…seven."

"Damnit!"

"We'll be near Clockwork soon," Slasher said. "Out of the way."

Buki's giant head moved away from the opening, and Slasher jumped out of the hat. Immediate a great rocking of the boat could be heard and seen, though not felt by the hat's remaining occupant. Volta exited as well, trying to be more careful in how he landed.

_SHUMP!_

"AAAH, MY DICK!"

"Oops, sorry Kibatto."

"FUCK YOU!"

Buki disappeared into the hat, Kibatto falling in after her. Zoro remained at the paddles, turning them with stoic vigilance. Had his arms gotten bigger since they'd started out?

"Rocks ahead," he called out, gaze never faltering from what lay ahead. "Big ones."

"Take us around," Slasher ordered. "Then get some rest. I'll take over."

"Sure."

Volta blinked at that. Not just at the command, but Zoro's casual acceptance of it. He wasn't a part of his team.

But then again, weren't they? They'd been together for over a week now, working to ration food and water, planning their next route in this dinky borrowed craft. They'd gone through hell together, or close to each other, in the depths of Dareda's labyrinth.

Slasher had Zoro's respect, Volta realized. And if Zoro ever bent the knee over anything, it was to people he respected.

How then, would Luffy earn his respect? No, how _had _Luffy earned his respect? Zoro certainly wasn't joining him in this universe, not with everything Volta had changed. The way things were going, he could help him take Luffy down instead, along with the rest of the pirates. The idea of his friend joining their ranks chilled Volta's blood. He'd do anything to prevent that from happening.

"Hey, someone's in the water!"

Volta turned to look. A young kid flailed in the water near the rocks, struggling to stay afloat. Zoro didn't hesitate, jumping into the water and swimming toward him.

"Hey, kid!" Volta shouted. "Help's on the way! Stay calm, don't panic!"

The kid stopped flailing, but a sudden grin twisted his face. "I just can't contain my excitement!"

_Excitement?_

A sudden lurch and Volta felt his stomach contract, his field of vision shifting. Where the boy had been, now there was the sky, behind a pattern of tightly wound ropes. It was a net, and Volta had been caught in it.

They all had. Their borrowed craft, a small paddleboat with a duck for a figurehead, lifted into the air, taking them all prisoner. Giant wooden pillars sprung up from the rocks, holding the net aloft.

"You little punk!" Slasher growled. "Let us down!"

"He'll do no such thing, prisoners!"

The new voice came from a small frigate, though compared to the paddleboat it was practically a battleship. A single-masted vessel with a long thin hull, supporting a square sterncastle, a mountain of boxes, and one very smug looking man.

Hawk-nosed and broad-faced, his light brown hair held up by a pair of aviator goggles. He wore a dirty green longcoat, also in the aviator style, complemented by a snazzy white. He even had a backpack and leather gloves. A red armband with a white key, the letter T, and a 1 was fastened to his left arm.

"What's a pilot doing on the open ocean?" Volta shouted from the net.

The 'pilot' ignored him, watching the kid swim over to his ship and hoist himself onto it. "Good work Akisu!"

"No problem," the kid snickered. "It was an easy victory, a real piece of cake!"

"How dare you insult us in a culinary fashion!" Kibatto roared, leaping from the hat and immediately slamming into the net. "I'll show you how dangerous cake can be!"

The kid, Akisu, studied the group, then shook his head. "We lucked out Borodo. It's just a gang of poor folk. You can tell they don't have any money just by the look of 'em."

The 'pilot' shook his head. "Look's like we got duped."

"_YOU _GOT DUPED?!" everyone shouted.

Borodo pulled a string under the net, and it loosened, disgorging all its occupants. Kibatto landed square on his feet, tackling Borodo to the ground.

"Get fucked _and _caked!"

"Get off him!" Akisu cried, jumping on Kibatto's back and biting into it.

Slasher jumped up and pulled both of them off. "That's enough Ki. We don't need to get violent."

The blonde hunter turned to stare at him. "The hell?! These guys caught us in a fishing net and tried to loot us!"

Slasher squinted at Borodo, shakily getting back to his feet. "I'm not happy, but I don't detect any malice from him. Certainly not the kid either. Neither have any intention of harming us."

"That's right!" Borodo exclaimed, a little too cheerful for a man who had just been assaulted. "We seek no death or pain, nor sadistic pleasures! We sail these seas in search of mountains of treasure!"

"And mountains we've already claimed!" the kid crowed. "Together, we are…"

With the perfect timing of many rehearsals, the two jumped into the air, performed synchronized double-somersaults, and landed on their pile of chests.

"The Thief Brothers! Borodo and Akisu!"

No sooner had the words left their mouths did the chests beneath them give, their mountain collapsing across the deck. Many of them broke open, revealing nothing but rocks and flotsam.

"Treasure hunters?" Drogon sneered.

Volta did a double take. When had he woken up?

"All I see is trash! You're nothing but scavengers!"

"That's not true!" Akisu retorted, climbing his way out of the wreckage. "Watch what you say about big bro Borodo!"

"Try saying that five times fast," Zoro whispered. Volta snickered.

"Borodo's such a good thief, that he's gonna steal the Diamond Clock from Clockwork Island and become King of the Thieves!"

Volta sank to his knees. _"Jesus Christus, _there's _two of them?"_

Slasher gave him a strange look. "Who's Jesus?"

"The Diamond Clock?!" Drogon squawked. "Yer shitting me!"

Buki scratched her head. "What's that?"

"One of the finest jewels ever crafted," Drogon said, his words dripping with reverence. "Five thousand carats worth of diamond cut into a thousand-faceted case for twenty-four carat gold gears, all built within a twenty_-five_-carat gold frame studded with a sunstone, onyx, agate, jasper, jade, ruby, emerald, and axinite, in that order clockwise from noon to midnight. All of which is further embedded in four juts of crystal, I don't even _know _how much those are worth, and behind all that-"

_BONK!_

Drogon blinked, then shook his head with a grimace. "Damn it all, I've turned into my mother."

"That doesn't sound so bad," Akisu said. "I don't even know who my parents are!"

"DON'T SAY THAT WITH A SMILE!"

Volta rubbed his temples. "Zoro, do these jokers have bounties?"

Zoro shook his head.

"Considering your…" Volta glanced at the chests. "Lack of success in committing any successful robberies, I'm sure you'll just get slaps on the wrist from the Marines in the area. Nevertheless, you're both under arrest for attempted thievery."

"You guys are hunters?!" Borodo cried, looking panicked for the first time. "Uh…we only rob from pirates!"

"A crime's still a crime," Volta said, shaking his head sadly as he did so.

Slasher put his hand on Volta's shoulder. "Come on man, we can let this slide. I kinda like them, in a weird pitiful way."

"HEY!"

Volta snorted. "Fine. I haven't arrested anyone in a while, is all."

"We arrested a bunch of pirates last week."

"Exactly. A _week _ago."

Slasher threw his hands in the air. "I wash my hands of your buffoonery! You two, question! We don't ride around in that dingy on the reg. Our real ship got stolen. Was it you too?"

Volta froze. Damnit, why hadn't he thought of that? Of course, a wannabe King of the Theives would want to try his hand at shipjacking.

Slasher glared at the aviator-enthusiast, dark eyes piercing. Borodo stared back, properly serious now.

"No, wasn't me. Considering how many people you've got, I couldn't have stolen a ship as big as yours, even with Akisu helping me."

A lie, and an obvious one at that. Drogon had been able to keep the ship on course all by himself, the crew mostly laid up in their medical bay.

"Alright, I believe you."

"You do?" Buki asked. "It all seems rather convinient."

"I'm a good face reader," Slasher said.

Zoro nodded. "It's true. Almost like mind reading."

Volta threw Borodo a glare of his own, and Akisu wasn't spared. They both seemed a bit more wilted under his then Slasher's.

"If you didn't take our ship, then who did?"

"It was the Trump Siblings," Borodo answered.

"The who?!" Zoro questioned, eyes wide. He shared a meaningful look with Volta, tearing the wanted posters out of his haramaki.

"Five siblings, right?"

Zoro nodded. "Bear King and four others. Don't remember their names though."

"I can point them out," Borodo suggested. He walked up to Zoro as he flipped through the posters. "No, no, no, oh, he's one! Book Jack! That's another!"

Soon all five posters were on the ground for all to see.

**WANTED**

**DEAD OR ALIVE**

**BEAR KING**

฿ **11,600,000**

**.**

**WANTED**

**DEAD OR ALIVE**

**BOO JACK**

฿ **3,200,000**

**.**

**WANTED**

**DEAD OR ALIVE**

**HONEY QUEEN**

฿ **7,800,000**

**.**

**WANTED**

**DEAD OR ALIVE**

**SKUNK ONE**

฿ **6,000,000**

**.**

**WANTED**

**DEAD OR ALIVE**

**PIN JOKER**

฿ **9,900,000**

"Thirty-eight and a half mil," Slasher whispered, practically _salivating_ at the amount. "That's almost triple what Dareda was worth!"

"Sure is a lot of money," Zoro said. "We could buy a new ship with that amount."

Slasher's joy turned to despair, his head darkening with…vertical lines over a dark blue backdrop? Volta shook his head; that was even weirder than the sweat drops. Would he go blind if that happened to him?

"Don't joke about stuff like that," Slasher moaned. "That ship was my pride and joy…"

"What about us?" Buki said, tears filling her eyes.

Drogon and Kibatto nodded along. "Yeah, what about us?"

"What about you?"

"AAK!" The three hunters turned white and collapsed.

"Damnit," Volta cringed. "There's gotta be some weird biological explanation for all this…"

Zoro, studiously ignoring all that madness, collected the bounty posters. "Where can we find the Trump Siblings? They've been off the radar for a long time now."

"They've taken over Clockwork Island," Borodo explained, now more serious then ever. "Their raids have grown smaller and more precise, using the cover of darkness to keep their identities hidden. That's how they've kept up the illusion that they've vanished."

"Damn, no wonder the exports dried up," Slasher cursed. It all makes sense now."

"They also have the Diamond Clock in their possession," Borodo continued. "Considering that they stole your ship and taking the Clock is my goal, I say we team up. You beat the crap out of the pirates while I take their loot!" A bead of sweat ran down the thief's forehead.

Slasher nodded. "…yeah. That makes sense. You seem to know the are pretty well. Guys, this is a bit of a curve ball, but-"

"INCOMING!" Akisu screeched. Everyone jumped, whipping around to behold a most unfortunate sight. Eight pirate ships, all of them significantly larger than Borodo's vessel, bearing down on them from the horizon. The one in front had a large bear's head for its figure, perched on a bow in the middle of four nasty-looking cannons.

"Well, speaking of the fucking devil," Drogon said with a smile. He cracked his knuckles.

Zoro grinned. "Volta, get the swords."

The ink swirled. "Aye."


	15. Clockwork Island Arc Part 2

**Chapter 15 – An Island in the Sky**

The ships moved in, like a pack of sharks. Or bears, considering the flags and figurehead. The sails had been painted with hearts, diamonds, spades, and clubs. Some of the hearts were black and some of the spades were red, and Volta couldn't tell if it had been down intentionally or in ignorance.

"Bears and cards?" he wondered aloud. "Having two motifs is a bit much."

Zoro shrugged. "I wouldn't know. Never been on a pirate crew before."

_And hopefully, you never will. _

"How can you guys be so calm?!" Borodo cried. "We're outnumbered! Hideously so!"

Slasher placed a hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry. We've faced worse odds before. Besides, those ships don't look like anything I can't slash up."

"You can slash ships in half?" Zoro asked.

Slasher shook his head. "I'm not _that _strong. But I can keep cutting up the masts and rigging until they can't sail anymore."

"That so?" Zoro challenged. His swords were at his side, two of them a few inches out of their scabbards. "I bet I could destroy more ships then you can."

"There's only eight. You take four, I take four?"

"Fine. But the winner is the one to take down the leader."

"I want in on this too," Volta said. "If we make it a three-way competition, eight ships between up, there won't be a tie."

"Don't forget me!" Drogon growled.

"But then we each get two ships," Slasher countered. "That's not a competition anymore, just fair distribution."

"I mean, you just suggested we divide them up evenly with me. Do you want a competition or not?"

"HEY!"

The four hunters turned to Akisu, who pointed to the ground.

_Huh, that shadow wasn't there before. _Volta felt another of those big sweat drops form.

They all turned one-eighty, just in time to see the Trump Pirate's flagship come to a stop right before them. A woman reclined in the top of the bear figurehead, which was much larger than Volta had perceived it to be from afar. She was naked but thankfully facing away from them. Despite the dirty coloring of the bounty posters, her blonde locks were unmistakable. Honey Queen, worth seven million and eight hundred thousand berries.

"Hey, Trump sibling!"

Honey turned, arms crossed and skin very glossy. A trickle of water ran down the side of the bear's face, around the black bulb that was his eye, to create the illusion of crying.

"I think there's a pool in that figurehead," Volta said.

Slasher tisked. "Damnit, now I'm jealous."

"Oh? Why hello there." Even her voice was liquid-like, sultry and low. "What brings you to this stretch of the blue?"

"We're looking for a stolen ship!" Slasher shouted up. "Have you seen it?"

Honey tilted her head, lost in thought. "Hmmm…can't say that I have."

"She's lying," Slasher stated bluntly.

"HEY, BEE BITCH!" Buki screamed. "WE KNOW YOU'RE LYING! TELL US WHERE OUR SHIP IS AND _MAYBE _WE WON'T KICK YOUR ASS OUT OF THAT POOL!"

"My, you're a feisty one," Honey purred. Volta did _not _like the look in her eyes.

Neither did Buki. "Are you…are you checking me out?"

Honey giggled. Or gurgled, Volta couldn't tell. "Don't worry sweetie, it's not for _my _benefit."

Before Buki could ask what _that _was supposed to mean, a crème-colored cannonball shot soundlessly over Honey's head. It unfolded into the fattest man Volta had ever seen, even compared to the likes of Pogo and Albedya. A wife-beater with the letter J on it stretched tightly over his stomach, still failing to cover it all, and what Volta had taken as the cannonball's surface was a fluffy coat. Most disturbing of all was the cap he wore, which looked like he'd skinned the head of a pig and turned it into a hat.

"Zoro, poster me."

He stared at the man's chubby face, and despite the grainy photo, his fear was confirmed. That was all too _literal_ pig skin, ears, snout and all.

"You're disgusting," Volta snarled.

"Oioioioioik!" Boo Jack laughed. "Call me whatever you like, but I won't care one bit! I've heard it all before! I have a riddle for you all!"

"I'm not one for wordplay," Drogon sneered.

"This one is so easy, even morons like you can figure it out! Who will become the greatest pirate in the world, the King of the Pirates?"

"Come on now, Jackie," Honey moaned. "That one's too easy."

"No one," Volta stated. "Not if I can help it."

"Wrooong! The answer is our boss, the mighty Bear King!"

"That's not a riddle," Kibatto shouted. "that's just an opinion! And aren't you guys in hiding?! How are we supposed to know the answer if you're trying to keep people from knowing you're still active?!"

Boo Jack blinked. "Uh…er…I didn't think of that."

Zoro scoffed. "I knew it. These guys are nothing special."

"YOU DARE MOCK THE TRUMP PIRATES?!" Boo roared.

"It looks like we need to show our strength," Honey intoned. She snapped her fingers, and a roar went up amongst the gathered ships, now crowded with hundreds of card-themed pirates.

They swarmed Borodo's vessel, throwing down ropes and descending them to the lower-sitting deck. They only got a few steps forward before five swords swept over them like a tide of steel, skewering and slashing a dozen mooks and sending them into the drink.

Zoro cracked his neck, bisecting a pirate's sword in the process. Then he went ham. Always a pretty sight to behold, in Volta's opinion, though he was too busy stabbing to pay much attention.

It was honestly even easier to take down these guys then it had been the pirates in the resort bar, though admittingly those guys had had some beef on them. These guys were beanpoles, for the most part, some of which looked like they were barely out of high school. Not that Volta believed high school existed in this world.

Come to think of it, how _did_ education work here? He had yet to see a school while walking the streets of nearly a half-dozen towns, and children were playing in those same streets often in the mornings and afternoons. Were they all just gonna go into trades? Those required a lot of studying as well. Maybe they all had dreams of being pirates, and the local governments had yielded to their collective desires. Maybe children just spontaneously woke up with knowledge of mathematics and literature in their heads. If a guy could fight a giant chicken monster and sell its corpse for enough money to buy a magical tree, anything was possible.

But then again, this world wasn't _too_ insane, at least this part of it anyway. Transportation systems, regional economies, daily life that bordered on the mundane once you get acclimated to the ecology of your island. He'd seen mothers hanging laundry and farmers tending vast chicken farms. He'd seen those things on Earth too. Lots of pubs and revelry in the back corners, soul-sucking office jobs, bureaucratic police forces, bureaucracies policing police forces, giant public staircases and tiny public restrooms, stupid mistakes leading to stupid situations.

Stupid mistakes leading to ruined lives. He wondered where the Copastas were, and what they were up to. He hoped the Marines had a good protection program, and that the Organization was too busy with their evil Pirate King-making/world domination plan to go hunting for them. What was Walkaway doing right now? He really should have arrested him for killing that Marine, though other than that he'd turned out to be a pretty decent guy overall. Maybe they'd run into each other again.

And where the hell was that bastard Luffy? He honestly was getting sick of thinking about him, but he had to be somewhere in the East. He wouldn't leave his hometown until the story got rolling, and it hadn't been Beer Town or Goa or any of the other places they'd visited so far. Maybe he had been on Cozia. It was almost a small continent, lots of towns on it. But that was mainstream as far as story significance went. In stories, the 'hero' always rose out of some backwater slum in the middle of nowhere. Definitely not any of the places they'd been so far.

Well, he still had the better part of a year and three quarters to find him. He'd have to be patient, building his skills and strengths in the meantime.

…wow, these pirates were such bad fighters he wasn't even thinking of them. How long had his body been on autopilot?

Where even _was he? _Apparently not on Borodo's ship anymore.

"YOU MANIAC!"

Volta blinked, roused from his thoughts by Honey's screech of…naked terror? Pun aside, that's what it sounded like. He looked around him, trying to find where she was.

He immediately wished he hadn't. Greeting his eyes was a scene right out of the bloodiest war movies and nastiest CSI episodes, a gorefest that covered the ship from bow to stern. Body parts were _everywhere_, arms and legs and chests carpeting the ship and hanging over the railings. The deck was so slick with blood it felt almost icy. Volta himself was rather soaked as well, though his sword was remarkably clean. Zoro had beaten proper sword care into him every day and night of their training.

Speaking of Zoro, he looked a little horrified himself, and he had two pirates shish-kabobbed at the moment. Slasher was drawing a circle around his face with two of his fingers. Was that this world's version of crossing oneself?

…was that a pile of severed heads?

He'd _done _all of this. Without _thinking _about it. He had so much strength now, far more then any person could hope to have on Earth. And he had forgotten that. It was a rotten feeling, like a worm wiggling in his guts. It made him feel like he was back in that damn tunnel, that _monster_ leaving him to writhe in pain. He wanted to take down pirates, kill the worst of them if he could, but not like _this_.

"Well," Volta whispered in a very, very small voice. "No more autopilot for me."

"KILL HIM!" Honey screeched. "KILL HIM BOO, BEFORE HE MURDERS US ALL!"

Boo obliged, transforming into ball mode and tearing through the blood-soaked ship to get to the hunter.

As the air filled with dust and splinters, Volta sheathed his sword. He forced the massacre out of his mind as best he could and prepared to deliver the mother of all kicks. This guy clearly had a Devil Fruit, Ball-Ball something or other, and if he got sent flying into the ocean, he wouldn't be a threat anymore.

What was one more body at this point anyway?

Boo rolled with abandon, shattering the masts and obliterating what was left of his comrades into a fine red mist. Wait, hadn't he been cream-colored before? Now he was two colors, cream, and FUCKING SPIKES DODGE DODGE DODGE!

The kick became a vault, and the bottom third of his coat disappeared in a shower of black ribbons. Splinters pieced his back, provoking a pained grunt. The bastard turned on a dime, somehow keeping track of Volta as he jumped around the sinking ship.

Never one to miss an opportunity, Volta jumped to another ship nearby, mostly cleaned out by Slasher but still intact. Boo tore through that one as well.

"STOP JACKIE! HE'S TRYING TO GET YOU TO DESTROY THE FLEET!"

Boo stopped in his tracks, spikes receding into his coat. He looked _way _too happy for a man covered in the blood of his comrades. "Oioioioioik, you bastard! You almost tricked me!"

"I did trick you," Volta said. The site of his autopilot atrocity had sunk beneath the waves, leaving nothing but a big red stain upon the surface. And a few floating heads. _Schei__ße,_ he hoped Akisu hadn't seen all that.

Seven ships left, and four of them had been dismasted with extreme prejudice. Zoro and Drogon's work, from the look of the slashed and splintered stumps respectively. Their crews were either dead or unconscious, mostly the latter. Volta saw at least a hundred pirates in the water, belly-down or hiding beneath the hulls.

"BOMBS!" Honey shrieked. She was out of the pool, toweled and standing on the bear's nose. "BOMB THEM TO DEATH JACKIE! DESTROY THEM ALL BUT THE GIRL!"

"As you command!" the pig-headed pirate shouted. He jumped into the air, far higher than a man of his stature should have been capable of. He began to spin.

"Everyone down!" Slasher roared. He jumped over the side just as the bombs began to fly.

_**BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!**_

Had he been hiding them in his coat? Did they add to his mass when he became a rolling spiked ball of death? Volta wasn't sure and had no time to ponder. The explosions were numerous, powerful, and precise, none falling upon the flagship and its remaining two escorts. He ran as fast as he could across what was left of the deck, but a bomb fell too close. He stopped, skidded, jumped.

_**BOOM!**_

No good. The blast sent him over, into the water. He had no fears of drowning, but he didn't want anyone to realize he had no Fruit himself. He came up for air and was almost immediately attacked by a flailing pirate. Volta broke his arm and flung him back onto the ship he'd been thrown from, which promptly exploded in a shower of shredded wood. He dove back under just before the splinters tore through his face.

The icy depths reminded him of his dream, and a chill passed through his body, one that had nothing to do with the cold ocean water. Had his dream been a premonition? A message of things to come?

No black shapes that he could see, but plenty of other horrors. The ship Boo had sunk, still covered in a red cloud. Sinking bodies, some mangled beyond recognition. A muted explosion from above tore through another hull, keel snapping clean, the two pieces slipping under the waves to join its bleeding brother.

So quiet, under here. So terribly eerie. All at once, a feeling of claustrophobia wormed its way into his mind, and he swam upwards, desperate for the sun and the sky.

He breached the surface just in time to get a bomb to the face. It bounced off his forehead and fell into the water, its fuse drenched and useless. Volta wasn't sure he'd had a luckier break so far.

"RETREAT! GET US OUT OF HERE!"

The cries from the figurehead were answered, the flagship turning about and heading back to Clockwork. Fires had broken out amongst the crippled escorts, creating a haze of smoke and fire that made even fifty feet out blurry to Volta's eyes.

Had everyone made it out okay? He looked around, trying to spot a flash of green or dark blue. He found Zoro struggling to stay on top of a piece of flotsam. Slasher pulled himself onto a burning wreck, Drogon right behind him.

"HELP!"

Volta turned, just in time to see Akisu jump off the rickety plank he had been standing on. He began swimming closer to the ruins of Borodo's precious frigate, a casualty of Boo Jack's bombs.

"MY MUSIC BOX!"

Volta didn't question it. His heart was still pounding, and he willed his tattoos to life, sending a tendril toward a glint in the water. It wrapped around it and pulled it out. While he was at it, he made another tendril and pulled Akisu from the water as well, depositing them both on a more stable platform.

He swam over and hoisted himself up. "Is it waterlogged?"

Akisu shook his head. "It's waterproof! I modified the gears to make it more resistant."

Volta nodded. "Cool that you could do that without disrupting the music."

"Wasn't easy," the boy said with a smile. Volta sighed with relief; it doesn't look like he had seen anything after all.

"Mister, why are you covered in blood?"

_Verdammt. Did the water not wash it all off? _

"I hit my head."

Akisu stared at him. "Just because I'm a kid doesn't mean I'm stupid."

He wasn't wrong. Between him and Hiyoko, kids in this world had proven themselves to be pretty savvy.

"I once saw a man's eyes pop out of his head."

…never mind savvy, they were _frightening_.

"Where's Borodo?"

"Over here!"

The older Thief Brother lay on a half-sunk pirate ship, his coat and hair ruffled but otherwise untouched by the conflict.

His expression told a different story.

Volta tensed. "What happened?"

"They got her."

"WHAT!"

Slasher jumped to his feet, face white but quickly darkening. "HOW?! WHY?!"

"The bomb knocked me back. By the time I had reoriented myself, that bastard Boo had jumped onto what was left of my ship and scooped her up. Blonde guy too."

Now Slasher turned _really _colorful, eyes murderous. "He took them _both?! _AND YOU _LET HIM?!_"

"Hey, it wasn't his fault," Zoro interjected. Drogon reached for Slasher's arm, but the hunter was already in motion, leaping across the water to Borodo's side. He didn't even try to defend himself from the punch that knocked him back into the water.

"YOU BASTARD!"

"Slasher, stop!" Volta jumped to his side, trying to restrain him. "He was just standing there! It wasn't like they were under his protection!"

Drogon took Slasher's other arm. "I'm as fuckin pissed as you are, but Volta's right. And besides, ya think Buki and Kibatto are gonna roll over for those clowns? Nah, those two'll fuck 'em up for us, you know that."

The color drained from Slasher's face, eyes clearing of hate and clouding over with frustration. He fell to his knees, sword falling from his hand. Which he then clenched into a fist and hit the floor with. It punched through.

"FUCK! FUCK THOSE BASTARDS!"

It was a frightening burst of emotion, one Volta would not have said Slasher was capable of. How wrong he had been, and ignorant. Slasher was the leader. The team, his friends, were his responsibility.

He got to his feet, sword back in his now slightly bloodied hand. He put it back into its scabbard. "Clockwork Island. There's where they're based, that's where we're going."

Volta surveyed the area. Destruction and devastation greeted him, but apart from the masts a few ships still looked seaworthy. The flagship and its two remaining escorts were already blips on the horizon. Damn, those ships were fast.

"Here's the plan," Slasher thundered. "We're going to fix up one of these wrecks, sail our way to Clockwork, and _trump those Trumps_. Completely and utterly. We get our teammates, we get our bounties, we get out damn ship back, hell, might as well snatch that clock while we're at it."

"Hey, I want to steal the clock!" Borodo had pulled himself from the water with Akisu's help, rubbing a reddened cheek.

"Help us get our friends back, and it's yours." Slasher held out his hand. "I'm sorry Borodo. That was very unbecoming of me."

The thief smiled, shaking the hand. "Apology accepted. I'll help you beat the Trump Pirates in any way I can."

Slasher gave him a cool stare. "I'm sure you will. Now, let's fix those masts."

"Damn it."

"Yer shittin' me!"

Slasher shrugged. "Hindsight is twenty-twenty."

"No need to fix anything," Borodo declared. "I just said I'd help in any way that I can, and I already have a solution."

.~===)==============={%}

The solution turned out to be quite effective, not even needing a whole ship to work. A parachute from his backpack, connected to the biggest piece of debris they could find, made for a good sail and raft. Borodo proved himself a masterful navigator, using the parachute's handles in conjunction with the wind to get them out of the battle zone without hitting any of the other flotsam.

Soon the wrecks were behind them, the most stable of them crowded with hundreds of stranded pirates. It looked like one of them was dialing a snail transponder. Volta was impressed it had survived the battle.

"The only ships on the sea that do rescue operations are the Marines," Slasher explained. "So those punks are damned if they call and damned if they don't, but there's not much of a contest between getting arrested and starving to death."

"That lot will dehydrate before they starve," Zoro said. "I hope there's a Marine patrol within three days of here."

Drogon shrugged. "Not our problem. We need to focus on Buki and Kibatto. Why'd the Trump brats want them anyway?"

"I'm not sure about the blonde," Borodo answered. "But Buki? The Bear King has been hungering for a bride lately."

Drogon burst into laughter, which quickly died under the cold gaze of his leader. "How do you know this Borodo?"

"Advertisements," Borodo replied. "This region has its newspaper that circulates around the crafting islands. He has an add out for woman interested in a man who's big, hairy, and…"

He glanced at Akisu, who seemed preoccupied with his music box.

"…loaded."

Zoro's face started matching his hair. "Fuck _that_."

Slasher drew in a deep breath. "Volta, can I borrow your hat?"

_SHUMP!_

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!"

"Holy shit," Drogon breathed. "I can still hear him."

Volta shook his head. "First of all, I second Zoro. Secondly, that doesn't make sense. The Trumps are trying to stay hidden, right? Engaging in night raids with fast attack ships, disappearing from the larger pirate community. Most of the East has forgotten them, right? Zoro, how long have they been out of action?"

"Before my time as a hunter. _Way _before, around seven years or so."

Borodo frowned. "Akisu and I don't travel much beyond the borders of Crebe, but if I had to guess, the Marines still know they're out there. They probably even know where out there, as we do, but they can't do anything about it."

"Why not? That ball guy was annoying, but in a straight fight on land, I wouldn't lose to him."

"Bear King is stronger I'd reckon, but that's not what I'm referring to. It's hard to explain. You'll see soon enough."

Aksiu turned the key on the side, and a gentle melody began to play. It wasn't very sophisticated, but it soothed Volta's rattled nerves.

"What's with the box?" Zoro asked.

"It's the only thing he's got of his hometown," Borodo said. He turned his head, expression somber. "Do you guys know what the logo on my backpack is for?"

"I was wondering about that," Slasher said. "A key, the letter T, and a 1 on a red background. That would be the True Doors Company, right?"

Borodo nodded. "Right on the money. It was a good business, doing good work. We'd get orders to make replacement keys for households that had lost theirs. We'd make the keys, get into hot air balloons, and fly over islands, dropping them right on top of the customers' roofs."

"…wow, what an effective business plan," Slasher deadpanned. "Truly ahead of its time."

"Damn right it was," Borodo agreed, voice trembling with emotion. "But the Government shut it down, said that if pirates got the blueprints to our balloons it could lead to catastrophe. Pirates dropping bombs on civilians, raining gunfire on Marine ships, you get the picture. Forced us to burn everything to the ground. I still wear the band and backpack, in remembrance."

Slasher nodded in sympathy. "That sucks."

"It did. So, I took to thievery. I was already pretty good at it, thanks to all the embezzling I did while I worked there."

"WHAT!?"

"Then, only a few weeks into my new life as a criminal, I saw a basket floating on the water. It was Akisu, just an infant, with only a blanket and the music box to his name. Which was written _on _the box, thankfully."

"Damn," Zoro said. "You raised him."

"That's right," Akisu said, as the music came to an end. "Big bro Borodo may not be my big bro by blood, but he's the best brother I could ask for! I'm gonna be just as cool as he is when I grow up!"

Borodo blushed. "Thanks, Akisu. That…that really means a lot to me."

"Hmm." Slasher shook his head. "I wish I could say the same about my brother. We were twins, him and I, but he was out first by five minutes. We used to do everything together, but…he's not really the same anymore."

"The Order," Zoro intoned.

"The Order?!" Drogon cried. "You told me he joined the World Economic Journal!"

Slasher facepalmed. "Is that what I said? I was gonna tell you and the rest the truth eventually."

"Wait, you didn't tell them?" Zoro questioned. "I'm not a part of your team, but you told me."

"Talk later," Slasher ordered. "I see Clockwork up ahead."

"You're changing the subject man!" Drogon growled.

"He's not wrong," Borodo said. "See the small whirlpool to the side?"

They did. It was about the same size as the duck-headed paddleboat they had used for the past week.

"There are a bunch of those all over the waters surrounding Clockwork. Look, there's the island!"

Volta blinked. That was Clockwork? It was hard to make out, but the island didn't look very big. He rubbed his eyes again.

Wait. _Wait. _The island was still far, just on the horizon, but Volta could see a thin dark strand, rising high above the clouds. What the hell was it? A trick of the light?

They grew closer, and as they did so, Volta felt every preconception he'd had about this world slip away. Beer Town, Tamago, Goa. Three strange islands with strange layouts, but nothing _too _strange. An island where the buildings had a vague beer bottle-like shape? Sure. Three perfectly round sand banks with giant yellow rock formations built on them? Could be constructed, like the late Palm Islands of Dubai. Goa was only strange because of what Dareda had done to it.

Compared to what he was seeing now, those places were as mundane as a trio of American coffee shops.

The base of the island was a small, spike-covered mountain, the right side opening into a tunnel where ships were likely docked. The mountain had a swirl-like shape to it, ridged with a spiral staircase.

But that wasn't what blew Volta's mind. The stairs went past the peak and onwards up an enormous tower, a drill-shaped rock formation _thousands_ of feet tall. Volta counted over thirty levels to it, and that was before the sun started getting into his eyes.

A dark mass lay high above, half hidden by the clouds. But it's size and shape left no doubt in Volta's mind. Against all the laws of physics, millions of tons of land sat on the tip of an impossibly thin column. One whose base was _hollow. _

"An island in the sky," he whispered. "It's… it's impossible."

"I've certainly heard rumors," Borodo breathed. "But it's far more impressive in person. This is what I was talking about. Not much the Marines can do when you're all the way up there."

Slasher gave a long whistle. "I'll say. And we have to get all the way up there ourselves?"

"Aw shit," Drogon moaned. "My boots are worn out as is. They'll fuckin disintegrate on this thing."

"Is there an elevator?" Volta asked. "That would be the best way for us to get to the top without issue."

"There is," Borodo confirmed. "That's how the Trump Pirates were able to conquer the island in the first place. Those stairs lining the tower are filled to the brim with traps, on top the sheer number of them, but if you break through the elevator's guards and seize control of it, the city above will fall. I have no clue how they got the island up there, but it was apparently to keep pirates from attacking in the first place."

"But then they realized what a pain in the ass it would be to use those stairs for transporting goods, or just getting down," Slasher concluded. "So, they made the elevator. Which allowed pirates to circumvent all the elaborate defenses they made specifically to keep them out."

"A catch twenty-two if I've ever heard it," Volta sighed. "Keep the baddies out and cut yourself off from the world, or open yourself up and let the baddies in. A real lack of foresight for people capable of lifting an _island_ into the air. Seriously, how the bloody hell did they do this?"

"We'll be asking them soon enough," Drogon said. He got up and started stretching. "Don't know about you guys, but I'm ready to start cracking some heads."

Volta nodded, unsheathing part of his blade. "So am I."

Zoro gave his friend a concerned look. "Don't lose _your_ head this time."

Volta stiffened, face flushed. "…right."

.~===)==============={%}

How exactly did the past generations of Clockwork get their island into the sky? Some say through underwater excavation, creating spring mechanisms that could propel upward and send the great land mass into the heavens. Others say they didn't build anything, that the island used to be the tip of a vast mountain that was worn away into its present form.

In truth, not even the current generation of Clockwork knows for sure. The island's ascension, if it happened at all, was centuries in the past, no records revealing a hint to the method of madness employed.

Fortunately, _maintaining _the island's state was very well documented. A great key, the kind you'd find on the side of a toy car, ran from the very tip of the island proper to the very bottom of the rocky seafloor. Roughly six thousand, seven hundred and twenty-three feet of pure iron, eternally greased by the natural secretions of the rock column that surrounded it. The only major requirement from its citizens was a monthly dumping of thousands of gallons of potent anti-rust liquid, the making of which was recorded in the ancient writings.

The Bear King had versed himself well on all the complex inner workings of the island after taking it, and the next required dumping was in two weeks. Such things were always on his mind and had been for seven years now, but one wouldn't know that from his appearance.

Volta had once considered Dick the Whale to be the largest person he had ever seen, but the Bear dwarfed him considerably, standing at a bit shorter than eighteen feet. A hairy beast of a man, his crown was the skinned head of a bear, not too dissimilar from the wretched pig hat of his lieutenant. A black, gold-lined coat stretched up and around his neck, into an elaborate spade-shaped collar, red scarf tucked within. His forehead too was marked with a spade, this one turned downward toward his cruel face. His arms, only skinny in comparison to the rest of him, had great tuffs of fur at the shoulders and wrists, also courtesy of the bear he had killed. A green dress shirt and maroon pants covered the rest of him, the outfit completed with a bright orange sash.

The two scientists facing the Bear didn't notice any of these details, only focusing on his face as they gave their plea. A face now twisted into an angry grimace.

"What?! What do you mean cancel the project?!"

"You've sat on that throne for seven years now," the female scientist said. "And in that time, the ships and weapons you've had us build have caused bloodshed across the Crebe Region."

The Bear scowled. "That's what weapons are for, you doddering git! If they don't shed blood, then they aren't doing what they were made to do!"

"But this new weapon will be worse!" the scientist cried. "It's a weapon of mass destruction, a horror this sea can't withstand. We've made you enough already, so please-"

_BANG!_

The shot whizzed right by her feet, bouncing off the bullet-proof glass that made up the throne room's floor. Beneath, the head of the great key turned, nearly as wide as the room itself.

"You two seem to have forgotten yourselves," the Bear growled. "The island's key is under my control." A cruel, crazed smile broke out on his face. "If you push me too far, I may break it, and send us all crashing back to the sea below!"

The scientists hugged each other, trembling with fear at the thought. Bear's other two lieutenants matched their captain's smile, looking just as insane as he did.

"Even if you don't want to make my weapons," the Bear continued. "There's nothing you can do to stop me. Just keep quiet and do what I say. Show them out."

Two guards were at their side in an instant, grabbing them by the arms and leading them away.

"I can walk without help!" the male scientist exclaimed, but he didn't shake them off. No act of resistance was too small in the Bear's beady eyes.

He grinned, but this time without madness. "The King Cannon is almost complete. Once it is, control of the East will be mine, and soon after, the throne of the Pirate King! This island will have its reward for helping me, I promise you that."

Just as the scientists left down one elevator, another took Boo and Queen up. Honey had adorned herself with a thin yellow corset and a long fur coat, half white, half purple, and covered with pink spots. One leg had been wrapped in a fishnet stocking, while the other had a long pink sock stretched all the way to the thigh. Boo Jack looked the same, two people hanging over his shoulders.

"Welcome back Honey Queen-chan!" a lieutenant cried. He was the shortest of the four, legs permanently bent from the weight of his big fluffy pack, but he skipped his way down the stairs of the throne dais without any problems at all.

"Oh? Oh! It's a pretty young lady! Did you kidnap her?"

Said pretty young lady looked up, and the ugly little man screamed and scuttled away. "She's a monster, she's a monster! Behold the rage in her eyes!"

"Stop it Skunk One," Honey hissed. "This woman isn't for you to look at. She's the Bear King's bride-to-be, his sou-ve-niiir."

Buki smiled viciously, and Skunk One screamed again. "Souvenir, huh? I'll pass on that and the bride thing, but if you want a bullet lodged in your brain, I can give you _that._"

"Ooh, a feisty one!" the Bear chittered. He jumped off his throne and down the dais with an astonishing amount of grace. He picked Buki up, large hands crossing fingers around her.

He stared at her, but not in a pervy manner, eyes never leaving her own. She glared back, wondering if she could make that saying about looks killing a reality.

He giggled, cheeks flushing red. "Yup, you're definitely my type!" He set her down, and a bouquet of roses appeared in his hands. "P-p-please marry me! You're the m-most beautiful g-girl I've e-ever seen!"

Buki sweatdropped. For a giant tyrant, it was a surprisingly sweet proposal. _Definitely _something she could take advantage of. An evil plan began to hatch within her.

"Oh, I dunno…you're certainly _very _handsome."

The Bear's face glowed. "Thank you! Not even my mother has ever said that to me!"

"And I bet you're _very _strong."

"Hell yeah I am!" Dumbbells appeared, and he lifted them without effort. How was he doing that?

The final lieutenant frowned. "Captain, I don't trust this woman."

"Stuff it, Joker," the Bear growled. "It's not like _you _have any experience with women, not when you refuse to take off your costume."

"It defines who I am," Joker intoned. "Nobody cared about me until I put on the foundation."

"Come to think of it," Buki cooed, lips turned into a small pout. "What I _really _like about you is your kindness and generosity."

The Bear giggled again. "Aw shucks, nobody's ever told me that either."

"Because it's not _true_."

"SHUT UP JOKER!"

Buki tapped her chip, deep in thought. "Oh!" She snapped her fingers. "I know! How about you give all the islanders a break from working on the…what did you call it again?"

"The King Cannon," Boo answered gleefully. "When it's gone, it'll be capable of destroying whole towns in a single shot!"

"Done!" The Bear snapped his own fingers, a dozen men rushing to his side. "Tell all the scientists they have the rest of the day off. The Cannon is almost done anyway; they can finish it tomorrow."

"Yes, sir!"

Buki smiled as they rushed off, quietly breathing a sigh of relief. She had no doubt the rest of her friends would catch up to her soon, but if Boo spoke true, that thing sounded like trouble. Best to take it out of the picture quickly.

"Now, as for your strength…how good are you at throwing things?"

"Very good!" the Bear exclaimed. "Why, if I wanted to, I could throw Joker here straight off the island!"

"WHAT?!"

Buki's smile widened. "Is that so?"

.~===)==============={%}

The group disembarked, careful not to let a patrolling ship see them. There only seemed to be the one, but with defenses like this, who needed a blockade?

The tower seemed truly endless when standing near its base. Even stranger, it became clear that the different rock plates were asymmetrical to each other, though they touch together enough for a central shaft to be present within.

"The only way up is the elevator," Borodo said. "The stairs mean death for anyone who doesn't know how to deactivate the traps."

"Anyone?" Zoro asked.

Volta stiffened again, this time for very different reasons. He knew that tone of voice. He's heard it when Zoro had challenged a bear to a fight, and when he'd jumped into action against a giant chicken without knowing what it could do.

"Yeah. Anyone at all?"

And now Drogon had that _exact same tone._

…_ah, to hell with it._

"Are you absolutely sure it's death for _everyone_ who tries to climb?"

Borodo's jaw hit the beach. "You guys can't be serious!"

"Volta," Zoro said with a grin. "I propose a bet. Who can get to the top the quickest?"

"You guys are gonna die!" Akisu cried. "Don't try it! The elevator is safer!"

"We may not have a choice," Slasher said. "Fighting our way through the guards to the elevator would be easier, but they could just raise it up to the island before we have a chance to get on it. At that point, we'd have to backtrack to the stairs, but without the element of surprise."

Borodo tisked. "That's right. They probably have the elevator set up there already, only brought down for raids and such."

Drogon smiled. "Well, that settles it! I bet that the last guy to get all the way up has to pay for everyone's drinks at the Clockwork pub."

"You guys don't even know if there _is _a pub!"

"You know what," Slasher said. "I'm down for that. A four-way race then."

Drogon laughed. "Hell yeah! But the first one up gets a prize! Like, say…the Diamond Clock?"

"ARE YOU GUYS SERIOUS?!"

"We can't steal their property," Volta countered. "The prize is eternal bragging rights."

"That's fuckin lame."

"Guys, do you hear something?"

They all paused, ears cocked. Sure enough, a faint scream could be heard on the wind, steadily getting louder. Volta looked skyward, just in time to see a tiny dot near the tower. It grew larger by the second.

"Looks like someone fell off," Zoro said. "He's a goner."

Volta started doing jumping jacks, hoping to get his blood pumping in time. The dot now looked like a person, though a very strange one.

With enough adrenaline pumping, the tattoos flared to life, Volta directing them into a swirl-like shape similar to the mountain they stood near. The person hit the ink with a splash, sliding down it like a kid at a waterpark, before slipping off and hitting the beach with a thud.

Strange was an understatement. The man had pure white skin, even paler than Volta's, and a red half star painted on the left side of his face. A blue tear drop had been painted under his right eye, and around his neck sat a giant collar of yellow feathers. His outfit, from his hoop earrings to his gaudy vest and boots, was all purple and black, save the torn red cape plastered to his back and the yellow tuffs on his forearms. Most interesting to Volta was the rapier strapped to his side, its hilt a polished gold.

Zoro yanked out his wanted posters. "Well what do you know, it's Pin Joker, one of the Trump Siblings. Worth nine million and nine hundred thousand berries."

Joker blinked, then jumped to his feet. "I'M ALIVE! DAMN YOU BEAR KING, DAMN YOU TO HELL! WHEN I GET UP THERE, I'LL MAKE YOU PAY! MY FEATHERS WILL BLOT OUT THE MOON!"

Volta frowned. "It's the sun, not the moon."

He whirled, face etched in fury. "I _KNOW _THAT, THANK YOU VERY MUCH! Wait, who are you guys?"

"ONI GIRI!"

The attack was fast, but to everyone's amazement, Joker dodged it, jumping high and twisting through the air to land several feet away from them.

"Ah, I see. You're the comrades of that wretched woman the King is smitten to."

"Is Buki alright?" Slasher growled.

"Alright?! That witch has bewitched my captain! She made him throw me from the island!"

Slasher sweatdropped, as did Drogon. "Yup, that's Buki alright. But it's exactly the kind of thing I'd want her to do. The more chaos she causes up there, the less we have to do to bring you guys down."

"You wish to overthrow us?! Don't make me laugh! The Trump Pirates are invincible! The day we lose is the day wigs fly!"

"It's pigs."

"SHUT UP! NEEDLE NEEDLE STING!"

His arms became blurs, and dozens of bright yellow flashes shot toward the party. Slasher and Zoro met the attack with a pair of their own.

"DRAGON TWISTER!"

"CEASER SALAD SWEEP!"

The sword swings created a buffer of wind, blowing away the feathers. A few went right back to Joker, but he dodged them easily.

"Ah!"

Borodo fell to his knees, one of the feathers stuck in his neck. He pulled it out, before collapsing to the ground.

"BIG BRO!" Akisu wailed. "He's dead!"

Joker laughed. "I'm flattered you think me so cruel, but he's just paralyzed! My feathers are coated in a special liquid called Devil Gas! He won't be able to move for hours!"

Zoro grimaced. "Damnit, now getting up the stairs is gonna be even harder!"

"Why would a liquid be called a gas?" Slasher questioned. "Are all you Trump pirates linguistically challenged?"

"SHUT UP!" His arms blurred once more, but Volta leaped forward, sword at the ready. Joker was forced to cancel the attack, and he blocked with his own sword. Volta hadn't even seen him pull it out.

The pale man chuckled. "What a lovely blade you've got there. Is it named? I might just replace my own, once I've pulled it from your lifelong fingers."

The other pale man smiled. "It's lifeless fingers, idiot."

"SHUT UUUUP!"

A duel began, and Volta was reminded of Zoro's fight with Albedu, the unfortunate younger brother to Beer Town's underworld ruler. Like him, Joker was fast and agile, relying on piercing attacks and quick parries. Volta was quickly forced on the defensive, using his scabbard to help deflect against the ruthless strikes.

Zoro sheathed his blades, content to watch the fight play out. "How far have you come, Volta? How much further do you have to go?"

"Have you been training him?" Slasher asked.

The swordsman nodded. "He's a fast learner, with a few months of experience under his belt. I've been training my whole life with the blade, so he's not as good as me. But he gets better every day."

Volta didn't hear the praise, absorbed completely into the duel. Three dozen exchanges. Five dozen. Seven. Joker's grin never left his face, as he pressed further and further, forcing Volta across the beach. His arm was a snake, writhing and twisting, the sword a sharp fang that was always striking.

A cut to the side, shallow but stinging. Had Joker coated his blade with Devil Gas too? He'd find out in just a few seconds.

Joker pulled three feathers from his collar with his free hand, flicking them at Volta's eyes. He jerked his neck, feeling one of them slice his cheek.

"Shit," Zoro growled. He pulled out Wado, ready to leap in the moment his friend fell.

But he didn't fall. Instead, he grinned. "You really are an idiot. You seriously only doused the feather's _tips?_"

"I wear this around my neck you fool!" Joker screeched.

Volta considered this. Then his smile widened. "That's true!" He parried another thrust with his scabbard and thrusted in turn. Joker dodged…right into a precise kick to the neck. He gagged, face turning blue, collar smashed up under his chin.

"Don't worry, I didn't break anything," Volta said. "But I'm pretty sure I just forced a few of those feathers closer to your neck then you prefer."

Joker coughed more violently, tears pouring out of his eyes. He tried to restart his offensive, but his movements were slow.

"I guess pigs are flying somewhere today!" Volta laughed. "FÜNFTER BLITZ, QUERSCHLAG!"

"GAAAAAAH!"

The strikes crisscrossed, one slashing his chest while the other sliced through his face. Volta twirled his blade, sheathing it as Joker fell to the ground, his own sliced in two.

Slasher clapped. "Well done."

"Damnit! My face!"

"Sorry," Volta apologized. "Wasn't trying to aim there. My technique was off."

Joker screamed, jumping to his feet. Blood sprayed across the sand, as well as drenched half his face, but the half that wasn't looked downright _apoplectic._ "THIS ISN'T OVER!"

_CONK_

'Yes, it is."

Joker collapsed, eyes rolling back into his skull. Slash wiped the butt of his sword's hilt, even though no blood had stained it. A bump formed on the pirate's pale head.

"That's one down," Zoro said. He bent over the fallen Trump sibling, tearing off his cape and pant legs. Within minutes, Joker was held tightly by his own clothing, which also helped to stop the bleeding from his chest. A section of his shirt was wrapped around his head. Lastly, he tore off the feathered collar, tossing it into the ocean.

"We should probably take him with us," Slasher suggested. "If we leave him here alone, he'll eventually free himself."

"Not if he wants to bleed out," Zoro grunted. "Damn Volta, this is _deep._"

"Cutting someone into unconsciousness is difficult," Volta replied. "Since I'm the one who wounded him, I'll carry him up."

"Can someone carry me?" Borodo called out from the ground. "I can't feel my…anything, actually."

Zoro walked over to him. "Have you wet yourself?"

"No."

Zoro picked him up. "You better not on the way up, or it's over the side you go."

"If you do that, I'll bite you to death," Akisu growled.

"No Akisu," Borodo chastised. "That's a perfectly valid thing to do to someone who's pissing on you."

The young boy blinked. "Oh, okay. Whatever you say, big bro!"

"The hell have you been teaching this kid?!" Zoro exclaimed.

"Less talk, more movement!" Slasher ordered. "If we're getting up to Clockwork any time today, we need to get moving."

"But how can we race up the stairs with a buncha people on our backs?!" Drogon whined.

Slasher sighed, kneading the bridge of his nose. "I really don't care about the race anymore, but you're right. Carrying people while trying to avoid traps will be impossible."

Zoro shrugged. "I have no complaint. Just makes the challenge all the greater."

"Actually," Volta interjected. "We might be able to use the elevator after all."

Slasher frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Gather around everyone. Er, everyone who can. I have a plan…"

.~===)==============={%}

Denny was, by all accounts, a bit of a loser. Even by the standards of his brethren, those great hordes of pirate fodder, he had little strength to speak off. He had never won an arm-wrestling contest with his fellow mooks, nor given the honor of serving on the front lines during battle. But despite this lack of physical might, Denny was an officer, in charge of both guarding the elevator and managing patrols throughout the island's sea zone.

How had a weakling, in a world where strength determined so much, gained a position of relative power? The reason is that Denny had two things going for him. His smarts, a rare thing among pirates of his standing, and his loyalty, commendable for its sheer _bottomlessness. _The truth of the latter quality could be traced to his upbringing, under the brutality of a man more concerned with drinking then raising his child. With no mother to nurture him and a father who failed to protect him, Denny fell out of the bottom of society and into the realm of the criminal. He got his start running drugs for a cartel based in the Sloven Archipelago. He worked his way up to bookkeeper, where he discovered embezzlement within the gang.

Unfortunately, they soon knew that he knew, and the traitors planned to cut his throat in a back alley before he could snitch on them to the boss. But just before they could do the deed, one of them bumped into Pin Joker, who had been rejected by a woman he had asked out just minutes beforehand. Already in a foul mood, the pirate reacted with excessive violence to the slight, murdering the gang member and his two companions.

Denny, grateful and terrified in equal measure, fell to his knees before the strangely dressed man, offering his eternal servitude for saving his life. Never one to pass up on recruitment, Joker brought him into the ranks of the Trump Pirates.

Eight years he had served the Siblings, throughout all seven of the occupation and one before. He knew his chances of rising higher in the card-themed echelons were slim, but that was alright. He liked the Siblings, and as far as he knew, they seemed to like him as well. And so, he guarded, and patrolled, and kept vigilant for trouble.

He saw trouble coming in the form of a group of trespassers, running around the base of the mountain toward the tunnel. Had they slipped past the ship currently encircling the island? Damnit, he knew he should have sent out two.

"Stay sharp men. Guns at the ready."

A dozen pirates aimed their muskets at the group. Denny could see that some were armed, and if they attacked, a hail of gunfire would cut them down. He'd done this plenty of times before, so he…

Wait a minute. Some were carrying people. And one of those bodies looked a lot like…

Horror laced through Denny, as he recognized the teardrop under Pin Joker's right eye. "Stand down, stand down!"

The soldiers lowered their guns, and Denny rushed forward, toward the trespassers. They were a dirty and battered lot, their clothing torn in places, especially the unusually pale one with the tattoos. The one carrying his boss.

"We need help!" the pale castaway cried. "We found him like this near the base of the stairs!"

Denny took one look at Joker and immediately understood what had happened. While doing patrols close to the island, he had occasionally spotted the swordsman training himself on the stairwell, weaving his way through the spikes and slicing through the boulders. He must have made a mistake, a mistimed jump or swing, and been knocked all the way down to the beach.

"Follow me."

The trespassers ran after the pirate, into the tunnel. Despite outer appearances, it was well-lit within, dozens of ships moored to an intricate docking system that extended deep into the mountain. Near the center, a bronze shaft rose up through the ceiling, right in front of the vast iron key that turned endlessly throughout the island. Embedded on the side facing the tunnel opening were two giant golden doors, engraved with images of gears and cogs, worked together to form an abstract clock. It was a beautiful piece of artwork, but not one Denny noticed in the least. "You, and you! We have an emergency, get the elevator down right now!"

His men complied, running to the control panel affixed to the shaft's left side. A snail transponder dozed in the middle of it, and they quickly woke it up and dialed the station above. After confirmation, they pulled the lever, and a groan from the shaft echoed throughout the cavern, ancient mechanisms within bringing the car down at incredible speeds.

Two more pirates placed Joker on a stretcher, a medic looking over his wounds. Denny collapsed before the trespassers. "Thank you, thank you so much! If you hadn't been there, I hate to think what would have happened to him."

The one with the blue shirt shook his head. "It was the least we could do. After everything we've been through, how could we not turn away from a wounded man?"

Denny frowned. "What do you mean?"

"We're castaways," the one with orange hair said sadly. "My friends and I were sailing through this region to get to my grandmother's funeral. But there was a storm, and our ship was struck by lightning."

Denny winced. "Not lightning,"

"Yes," he sniffled. "Lightning. It burned and sank our ship, and we were forced to ride out the waves on a piece of driftwood. We washed up here, with only our clothes and our weapons to our name. The cake's gone, our suits are gone, we even lost…we even…_sniff_…my dear pet scorpion."

The pirate felt himself begin to tear up. "Not your pet scorpion."

The orange-haired castaway broke into tears, sobbing into the blue-shirted one's chest. The pale one shook his head sadly, while the one with the three swords stared forward, stoic. Or perhaps traumatized. The little kid looked dazed, like he couldn't believe this was happening to him.

"You poor souls!" Denny cried. "Don't worry, you'll all be able to rest soon. I'm sorry about your grandmother's funeral, but there are plenty of inns in the city above that will take you in after hearing of your plight."

The elevator descended, hitting the ground with a heavy thud.

_DING!_

The doors opened, and a dozen more men rushed out, fetching the stretcher and pulling it in.

"Let them in as well!" Denny commanded. "These guys saved Pin Joker's life!"

The guards grunted an affirmative, and the grateful-looking group slipped in. The doors slid shut, and the great lever was thrown again, taking the car all the way up to the island above.

Denny sighed in relief, while also shivering at the catastrophe that could have been visited upon them. The idea of Joker dying, of the Trump Pirates suffering such a terrible loss, nearly drove him to tears again.

"Thank you, castaways," he whispered. "I wish you luck in all your future endeavors."

.~===)==============={%}

The elevator doors opened, and Joker was rushed away to be treated. None of the pirates congratulated the group for their 'rescue,' nor did they invite them to the castle as a reward. But that was fine by Volta. They'd be finding their way there one way or another.

"Well, we did it," Zoro whispered. "That's the first step accomplished. Now we need to get to the castle."

"I didn't see our ship anywhere in that cavern," Slasher whispered back. "They must have brought it up here somehow. We'll have to keep looking."

"Buki and Kibatto come first," Drogon growled.

"Didn't mean to say that they aren't," Slasher hissed. "We'll rescue them first, beat the shit out of the rest of the Trumps, call in the Marines and make our way out. Sound like a plan?"

The rest nodded, except for Borodo.

"If I remember correctly, they're at the castle," Volta said. "Anyone know where that is?"

"It's on top of the mountain," Borodo said. "It used to be the main research station for Clockwork until Bear King refashioned it into his abode. The great key that keeps this island from falling is located there too."

The group exited the building, and beheld, for the first time, the true island of Clockwork. They all winced in pain, ears popping rapidly as the full brunt of the air pressure change hit them. Volta was pretty sure it should have happened in the elevator, and that the speed of the change would have killed them all on Earth.

But such grim thoughts fell away in the face of Clockwork's beauty. The elevator had taken them halfway up the green mountain that made up the majority of the island, and most of the town lay below them. No, not a town. There were _thousands _of houses, a bone fide city, and it only covered a small portion of the mountain itself. Beyond the buildings towered great rock formations, ironically a great natural defense against attacks by sea. And beyond all _that_, almost out of sight, Volta could see a massive iron gear, rusted and ancient, turning clockwise around the entire landmass. Was that a part of the key too? Or did it serve some other purpose?

The city itself gleamed in the sun, unlike anything Volta had seen before. Its buildings curved and swirled, leaned and bent, their roofs either tapering off into chimneys or rounding into tiled domes. And the colors! For a second Volta was reminded of Goa, and before that the nightmarish beauty of his own Varnished world, but there was a warmth to these colors. Like the citizens had painted each and every one of their buildings in their favorite, while still being conscientious of how all the colors would look right next to each other. Nothing was badly matched or garish, or out of synch with the flow of the city itself.

Dozens of gears and pulleys connected them, but never across roads or other public places. And along those lines, clothing flapped in the breeze, or little baskets slid from one house to another, an easy way for neighbors to give each other things without stepping out of their homes.

Volta felt that he could stare at the city forever, drinking in its masterful artistry. But he had a mission, so he turned his gaze upward, toward the castle. Dozens of pink-roofed windmills turned, likely collecting energy for the island's vast internal machinery. Trump Castle was the most bizarre building of all, thirteen crooked crowns of brick and gold stacked onto each other, each one painted with the four suits. At the very top, a small glass dome, and on top of that, a tiny, nearly microscopic flash of red.

"ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!" Slasher roared.

Drogon squinted. "Yup, that's the ship alright. Pretty impressive if you ask me."

Slasher fell to the ground. "My baby…"

"Hey, look!" Akisu pointed up to the dome, at a little spark on its side. "That's the Diamond Clock!"

"That's right!" Borodo exclaimed from Zoro's shoulder. "The most valuable clock in the world is without our grasp!"

"You can't grasp anything right now," Zoro groused.

"Actually, some feeling is returning to me. I might be able to walk soon."

_GRRRRRRRRLLLL_

The group jumped, swords flashing.

"The hell was that?" Zoro exclaimed.

"No idea," Slasher said. "Everyone stay alert. There could be wild, man-eating goats on this mountain."

"Man eating-whatnow?!" Drogon cried.

"Oh yeah, I probably should have mentioned those," Borodo laughed.

"WHAAT?!"

_GRRRRRROOOOOWWWLLLL_

Zoro frowned. "Wait a minute…that's no goat. That's just my stomach."

"WHAAAAT?!"

"Actually," Drogon began sheepishly. "I'm kinda hungry too. Why don't we get a bite to eat before we try taking on the Trumps?"

Volta nodded. "I second that motion. We've been eating nothing but salted crackers for a week now."

Slasher sighed but nodded in concession. "Yeah, we could all use some food. But we need to hurry. Every minute we spend here is a minute longer Buki and Kibatto are in terrible danger."

.~===)==============={%}

"Aaaaand…right there, perfect!"

The two grunts grunted as they set down the gilded pot, filled to the brim with blue roses. Just one of many that now lined the Bear King's throne room.

But that was just the tip of the iceberg. Hundreds of balloons covered the ceiling, with dozens more tied to the metal pipes that ran along the walls. Tables had been set up for the great buffet the Castle's chefs were working their hardest to finish, and the throne dais had been wreathed with white lilies. The glass floor now bore the weight of dozens of wooden benches, impeccably cushioned by the Castle staff. They were usually used for feasting, but had been repurposed for what was fast becoming the most elaborate wedding ceremony Clockwork had ever seen.

Buki couldn't help but feel a bit guilty, especially after the Castle tailory had pumped out a jewel-encrusted wedding dress in just under an hour. But seeing how ragged the castle guards were after all this preparation was worth it.

"_My beautiful bride to be!"_

Her content smile turned into a scowl. Whether it was worth the attention of a man who wore the _skinned head of a bear_ was another matter. She _really_ hoped Slasher and the others weren't getting sidetracked in the city below.

Speaking of that damn bear skin, the King was still wearing it, only this time over an overly elaborate tuxedo, its buttons shaped like hearts and diamonds cufflinks like clubs and spades. His belt had a big bear-shaped buckle on it, something Buki only knew due to how stretched the tux's jacket was over the King's generous belly. It was clear which outfit the tailors had given more attention to, and by the King's own orders no less. Another sweet gesture from an otherwise tyrannical ruler. Maybe she'd feel a little bad about arresting him when all was said and done.

"My lovely bride! I must say, asking for a full wedding ceremony in under three hours is quite the request, but as you can see, I'm making your dream a reality! Just say the word, and I'll gladly work these men to death for us!"

Or, maybe not.

"Congratulations my King!" Skunk One exclaimed. He too had thrown on a tux, though his strange fluffy backpack and aviator cap and goggles remained firmly in place. The ugly little man had a habit of spinning in circles when happy, and Buki considered asking the Bear to punt him out the same window he'd broken throwing the swordsman.

"It's about time we had another female in the crew," Honey cooed. She too had dressed for the occasion, the pale-yellow gown complimenting her hair. "I've always wanted a sister."

"Ya know, I've been wondering about that," Kibatto said from his cage on the ceiling. "Are you punks actually blood siblings?"

"We are," the Bear explained. "I'm the oldest, at twenty-four."

Buki's eyes nearly popped out of her head. "That young?!"

"I know!" Bear giggled. "I'm still in the spring of my youth! Honey here is a year younger, and Skunk One is a year younger than her, Joker is a year younger than him, and Boo Jack is the youngest at twenty."

Buki stared at Skunk One. At his massive nose and tombstone teeth, and his naturally neon pink lips. "I'm so sorry."

Skunk shrugged. "We can't all be as handsome as my big brother."

_Have I gone insane? Or has the world I live in?_

"Speaking of family, where's Joker?" the Bear groused. "I've thrown him out of windows plenty of times, and he's usually back before noon."

Buki checked a nearby clock. She's been kidnapped, dressed up, proposed too, and made wedding planner of her own sham wedding _before noon?_

"Fuck my life," she groaned.

"That's the spirit!" the Bear laughed. "Because your new life after marriage will be so much sweeter!"

Kibatto's laughter echoed from above. Buki flipped him off, storming off the dais and toward the elevator. It was about time she got her damn dress on.

As she passed the buffet table, she noticed a pirate collapse from exhaustion. He was quickly thrown only a pile of similarly overworked minion, one that was growing with each passing minute.

She smiled again. As much as she despised the idea of getting married, real or not, her plan was working. Trump Castle was softening, and soon (preferably within the next two hours before the ceremony) her team would smash it flat.

.~===)==============={%}

The grandmother's funeral story worked wonders on the owners of one of the city's pubs. Soon they had all the food they could eat, though the owners had drawn the line at extra beers. Zoro was _not _happy, but he knew better then to complain. Volta gave the bar a thousand berries before they walked out, for whatever that was worth.

The streets bustled, especially in the center, but there were no vendors or hagglers. It wasn't that kind of town. Shops made their wares known through their windows, entire storefronts consisting of glass so that all manner of trinkets could be seen within. Kids gawked at them before continuing on with their games, usually involving a ball or a stick.

"Seems kind of dangerous," Volta wondered aloud. "To have so much breakable glass in the same place children play."

"Not at all," Akisu said. He jumped into one of the games, grabbing the ball and throwing it against the nearest window. It bounced off, sailing right back at him. He kicked it, and it bounced even harder, but no damage was done.

"Hah!" one of the townsfolk laughed. "Kid's trying to break the window!" A smattering of laughter filled the air.

Zoro frowned. "What's so funny?"

"This glass is much stronger than it looks," Akisu explained. "Clockwork makes some of the strongest glass in the East. I can tell just by looking at it."

"Akisu's got the gift when it comes to machines," Borodo explained. The Devil Gas had proven less effective then Joker had claimed, and the former key deliverer could stand on his feet, albeit with support from Zoro. "The kid doesn't even need practice, he just seems to know."

Akisu shrugged. "I'm not that good. But thanks, big bro!"

Volta chuckled. Maybe his theory that kids grew up knowing stuff wasn't so far off.

With their bellies sated, they made their way up the paths toward the mountaintop, admiring the buildings as they went. Volta wasn't sure how practical a lot of it was, but he had been proven wrong about the glass, and these people clearly knew what they were doing when it came to inventions.

Even the residential areas had storefront equivalents. One vine-covered house had dozens of intricate tea pots on display, gold-smelted skeletons with colorful pottery filling in the gaps.

"Damn," Drogon whistled. "This is a fun place to be! We should come here again under better circumstances."

"I'm afraid you strangers know little. Better circumstances will never come again."

Volta tensed, peering inside the house. A couple was sipping tea on a mezzanine overlooking the first floor, which seemed to be part abode, part teapot store. A table full of half-finished teapots sat off to the side, dusty and clearly unused.

"I know what you're referring too," Slasher said, letting himself inside. "I saw some patrols of their men while we were walking the streets."

"Hmph," the man scoffed. "Business looks like it's going about as usual, but all you need to do is unplug your nose, and the stench of fear will pervade you."

"This island has been under their rule for seven years now," the woman stated bitterly. "It used to be an island of dreams, but now it's just another weapons factory, producing tools for killing."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Slasher replied. "But you don't need to fear any longer. We've come to put an end to the Trump Sibling's control."

"Yeah!" Borodo exclaimed, so excited he pushed off from Zoro, energy restored. "These hunters have come to take down all the pirates! They're the best hunters in the East!"

"For the record, we make no such claims," Slasher clarified. "But what we can do, we will."

"It's not going to work," the man moaned. "Many have tried before, but they all perished. And even if we did succeed, Bear King has threatened to destroy the key holding this island in the sky! We'll all perish if we rebel!"

"If he does that, he kills himself as well," Volta said. "Does he and his crew have the power to fly?"

"You don't understand," the scientist continued. "He doesn't _care _if he dies or not. He's mad, him and his entire family!"

Volta looked to Zoro. "Is that true? Is the Bear King mad?"

Zoro shrugged. "No idea. Don't have a history of him on hand. But if I ruled an island in the sky for many years, I'd probably go mad from power."

"You'd be above reproach," Slasher said. "Literally. After a while, you may see yourself as a god."

Zoro chuckled. "I don't believe in God."

"Whether he believes himself a god or not, it makes no difference," the pessimistic scientist continued. "If he truly wishes to, he can bring this island back down to the sea. In pieces."

It was a frightening prospect, one that made Volta conscious of how thin the ground they stood upon really was.

"Also, there's no way to approach their castle by land anyway. The grasslands surrounding it are mined, the windmills maintained by dozens of pirates. Their stranglehold is complete."

"Gosh_darn_ you're depressing!" Drogon groused. "Enough is enough! Come on guys, we don't need their pessimism!"

"We're right behind you," Slasher replied, more then a little sarcastically. "Anyway, I noticed that you have a picture of the Diamond Clock on your wall."

"WHAT?!"

Drogon rushed back inside, jumped right onto the mezzanine's railing, and leaped over the couple's tea table. The woman shrieked, her swirly pink hair whipping around her.

"I knew I got all the gems right! Woo-hoo, who's the gem master?"

"What are you doing?!" the man squawked.

"He's a gem lover," Slasher explained. "Though he wouldn't admit it until now."

"We made the Diamond Clock," the woman said, her composure regained. "It was in celebration of the birth of our son. But it's just another memory of bad times now. If you truly want it, you can have it."

Volta winced. A son…one he didn't see in this house. And he doubted he was just out playing with the other children, from the sound of his parents' voices.

He took off his hat. "I'm sorry for your loss."

The woman nodded. "Thank you."

And with that, Volta turned on his heels, hat back on his head. "Let's go."

Zoro grunted, right behind him. The others followed suit, Drogon jumping down and helping Borodo through the door.

"Please don't do this!" the woman called out. "It will be the death of you all!"

"Sometimes, death must be faced for one's goals," Volta stated. "Come on Akisu, let's get going."

"You got it!"

The woman gasped, too softly to be heard by anyone but her husband. She ran down the stairs and out the door, watching as the group headed upward, toward Trump Castle.

"Did you hear what that man called that boy?"

The man sighed. "Akisu is a common name in Crebe. There's no reason to-"

His next words died in his throat, as he caught sight of something on the ground. It was a little music box, made of polished brown wood and inlaid with golden symbols. A little picture of a baby marked its top.

The man picked it up. "Dear…it…it couldn't be…"

"It is," the woman whispered, tears springing to her eyes. That boy…that boy was our son!"

* * *

**Author's Note**

**For those not familiar with the movie this arc is based on (Clockwork Island Adventure), here are the designs of the characters that appear there. (If you're on Fanfiction Net, type in Inkbolt Spacebattles on google and scroll through the threadmarks for Chapter 15)**

**Yeomanaxel, the Verified Yeo**


	16. Clockwork Island Arc Part 3

**Chapter 16 – Fateful Coincidence**

"If I remember correctly," Drogon drawled. "That lady with the weird hair said that this place was mined."

"The ground is full of mines, I think she was trying to say," Volta replied. "If it were mined then there'd be big bloody caverns everywhere."

"I caught on to her meaning," Zoro said. "I can't see any."

"They likely had the townspeople make them," Slasher said. "With their skills, hiding them wouldn't be an issue."

All three of them were looking up the mountain, toward the jagged Trump Castle at its peak. They had left the city behind, along with the worries and fears of its citizens. The windmills that dotted the upper slope all had the same twisted design, cylinders topped with pink swirling roofs, yellow blades turning in the breeze. It was a bit boring compared to the vibrant colors below, but Volta had noticed the largest buildings in the city also had pink roofs. Perhaps it was a lucky color on this island, or the color of progress.

"How exactly are we gonna get past the mines?" Drogon asked.

Volta noted the ropes connecting the windmills. "If I get my blood pumping, I could make tendrils of ink that carry myself across those lines. But I couldn't carry the rest of you."

"There's gotta be a deactivation switch of some sort," Akisu considered. "I mean, the Siblings gotta get down somehow."

Borodo snapped his fingers. "I've got an idea!" He ran back the way they had come, only to stumble and fall. Zoro jumped to his side and caught him.

"Careful, you still haven't fully recovered."

"I won't recover if you keep me down!" Borodo cried, jumping back to his feet and hobbling toward one of the outlying houses. He knocked on the door, and as soon as it opened he thrust a wad of berries at the owner. He pointed to the side of the house, at a pile of large baskets. One aggressive negotiation later, Zoro carried a basket back. Borodo got out his parachute, undoing the handles and retying its rings on the basket's lip.

Slasher grinned. "The parachute saves us again!"

"Of course it does!" Borodo exclaimed. "Never underestimate the air power of the now-defunct True Doors Company!"

"But will it be strong enough to hold us all?" Drogon questioned. "Seems a bit on the thin side."

Before anyone could object, the martial artist stomped the basket's lip, flipping it over. He launched a devastating downward kick, hitting it so hard it reverberated into the ground. The basket shook but did not break, or even crack.

"You could have destroyed it!" Borodo screamed.

Drogon shrugged. "Better that then it breaking under us as we fly."

Slasher nodded. "Good call. But there's another problem. Will we have enough wind?"

"We will soon." Volta pointed to the sky, where the clouds were moving more rapidly than before. "We might have more wind then we can handle. Everyone in the basket!"

Not a moment too soon, as the parachute went taunt against the air, pulling the whole thing up and over the mountain. The landscape shifted rapidly, but Borodo's foresight saved them from flying off-course, an extra strap on the parachute allowing him to direct it without issue. Well, almost without issue. The wind blew up, but much faster than Volta had anticipated. They all rolled back, poor Akisu almost going over the edge before Zoro grabbed him back.

"Can you slow this thing down?!" Slasher shouted.

Borodo pulled with all his might. "Er, not really!"

Volta felt his heart hammering in his chest, and his tattoos erupted. They traced up the ropes and pressed down on the parachute, adding enough weight to slow the ascent. The basket began to lower, and as the wind died down he withdrew his ink.

"Thanks for the save," Borodo shivered. "For a second I thought we were gonna overshoot the castle. Then you guys couldn't beat up those Trumps!"

Zoro frowned. "You've been very insistent that we take these guys down. Ever since we met in fact."

Borodo nodded. "Of course! Why wouldn't I be? It's essential that we free this island from the Bear King's control!"

Slasher nodded. "Yes, that's right. Very essential."

The former key deliverer returned to his ropes, pulling them more frantically as they rose toward the peak.

"You know," Slasher continued. "These windmills look an awful lot like this toy I've got." He took out the little windmill wind-up, the one they'd found on the beach.

"You still have that?" Zoro asked.

"Why not? It's a good stress reliever, or at least it was until it broke."

Akisu turned his head. "Broke? I can fix it for you." Without asking, he swiped it out of Slasher's hand, several screwdrivers suddenly within his own.

He unscrewed the top, revealing the basic machinery within, and with a few twists of his tools undid much of that as well. Each screwdriver was unique, their tips made for different heads, and Akisu used them all throughout the toy, wiggling them around the gears and knocking them against the base as if trying to perceive the problem through sound alone. He put one away and set to work with the other two, one in each hand. He was ambidextrous, Volta realized, and more than capable of putting the growing number of pieces back in the exact order he had taken them apart. It was amazing, like watching Zoro clean his blades, a mesmerizing process that had no wasted motions. Almost a sort of swordplay in itself.

With a few final twists, Akisu screwed the top back on, and this time a turning of the knob made the blades spin around, but even faster than before.

Borodo laughed. "Like I said, Akisu is something else when it comes to machines!"

Slasher smiled. "Thanks for your help kid."

He blushed. "Ah, it's nothing. Just a toy."

"But it means something to me. Don't sell yourself short on credit if you've lent someone a hand. The world would be on a good path if there were more kids like you out there."

Akisu beamed. "Thanks mister!"

"Alright everyone!" Borodo shouted over the wind. "We're almost there!"

Volta had a better view of the castle now, and it was just as bizarre up close as it had been down below. Several small buildings surrounded it, hundreds of pirates training on the grounds.

Zoro gaped. "How many soldiers does this bastard have?"

"Between this and all the ships," Drogon growled. "No wonder he thinks he can become King of the Pirates. It's an army to be sure."

"I saw a lot of young men on the streets," Volta noted. "So it's not like he's snapping up the city's population for his forces. Probably because he needs them as workers for his machines, along with everyone else on this island."

Zoro nodded. "Fishy."

Shouts began to go up from below, as soldiers spotted their makeshift balloon. Shots rang out.

Volta took out his sword. "Get ready folks, we're coming in hot!"

"Do we have a plan?!" Drogon cried above the gunfire.

"Beat the Trumps, save our team, contact the Marines." Slasher unsheathed his blade, twirling it in a menacing arc. "And above all else? Survive."

==============={%}

TEN MINUTES AGO

.~===)===============

The music swelled, the attendees stood, and the wedding ceremony began.

Well, they tried to stand anyway. Most of the castle's army had been worked to the bone, worn down by three straight hours of preparation. The results were impressive; balloons, streamers, flowers, a first-rate buffet, and a stunning wedding dress that Buki was keen on keeping. _Just_ in case Mr. Right appeared on her radar within the next few years. A large bell hung from the ceiling near Kibatto's age, and it rang twice as the organ music resounded.

Skunk One, only two years her senior, walked her down the aisle. He certainly lookedold enough to play the father role. Buki shuddered to think of what _his _father had looked like.

Down the carpet they came, toward the dais and her 'future husband.' He stood as straight as a rod, cheeks flushed, almost on the verge of hyperventilating. Honey Queen and Boo Jack stood off to the side, maid of honor and best man respectively. The fat pig-wearer hadn't even tried to fit himself into a tuxedo, only wearing a bow tie over his stained wife-beater and fluffy coat.

The priest was…also Skunk One. He led her up the dais, then dropped her hand like a hot potato and tore off his aviator cap. He pulled a miter and a Bible out of his pack and took his place at the center of the stage.

"Heeriye, heeriye, all ye gathered scum!"

_Oh, fuck me. _

"We stand today before a coming union, that which is most sacred and precious in all the world! The union between our dear captain, and his bride to be, Boomy!"

Thunderous applause.

"But we are not _just _celebrating the merging of pirate and captivvvating individual! We are also here to rejoice in the completion of the King Cannon!"

Buki froze, eyes wide in horror. "I thought it wasn't ready," she whispered.

The Bear King giggled. "It wasn't, but I thought it would be a nice touch to have it finished for the ceremony! It'll shoot confetti as we kiss!"

"You said you'd let all the scientists go free for the day," Buki growled.

The King giggled again, and a menacing gleam entering his eye. "Only _some_ of them. Never take a pirate at his word, dear."

As he spoke, a deep rumbling shook the castle. The stone wall facing the dais slid into the floor, revealing a large terrace that overlooked the entire island. From the center of it rose a metal box, its front open to reveal a cloth-shrouded object. Several accompanying pirates did a little dance before rolling the monstrosity in, the box sliding back into the floor. With a flourish, the cloth was swept away.

Buki paled. It wasn't just a cannon, but a full-blown _tank_, the sort she'd only seen in comic books. It had a dull-gray color, offset by a colorful gage bolted to the side. The arrow lay firmly in the light yellow on the left, so it was likely a measure of how hot the internal mechanisms were. The cannon itself was screw-shaped, barrel ridged and lip hexagonal, and card suit-shaped symbols covered the front. Worst of all were the shells loaded onto the back, held up by a steel rack. Each one was as wide as the Bear King himself, a dull bronze bullet capable of untold devastation.

"It's beautiful!" the King cooed. "With this, our legend can begin! Between my army, my cannon, and my family, the Throne of the Pirate King is as good as mine!" He laughed uproariously, and for the first time since meeting him, Buki felt fear.

All this power. All this strength. And no restraint or maturity to go along with it. How old was he again? Twenty-three, twenty-four? He felt so much younger, a teen with a brand-new fishing boat. A child with a new toy gun, and a new doll to play with.

His laughter ceased. "Resume the ceremony!"

Skunk nodded, continuing his hackneyed speech. "We are all gathered together to honor and commemorate this holy union! And with that being said, twice now I think, we can get the vows underway!"

"Hey, wait a minute!" Boo Jack spoke up. "You forgot to ask if anyone has any objections!"

The Bear King nodded. "That's _very _important."

"Oh yeah!" Skunk One chirped. "Any objections?"

Kibatto banged on his cage from the ceiling. "_I _object!"

_BANG!_

"Nevermind!"

Skunk One cleared his throat. "Bear King! Do you-"

"I DO!"

"Very well then. Boopy, do you take our beloved captain as your husband, through sickness and health, through fire and brimstone, through all our adventures to come, whatever those might be?"

Buki gulped, eyes locked onto the expectant monster before her. But before she could open her lips to say anything, faint gunfire sounded from behind. Everyone turned around, just in time to see what looked like a giant blanket get shot to pieces. And through those pieces flew a very large basket.

Right toward the glass.

Buki smiled. "Nope! I very much don't!"

"WHAAT?!"

_CRASH!_

The glass shattered, and five men and a child burst into the throne room, raining shards down into the buffet. Which was promptly smashed by the basket itself, food flying everywhere and splattering the nearby chefs.

One fell to the ground, tears in his eyes. "WHYYYYYYY!"

"BASTARDS!" the Bear King cried. "HOW DARE YOU CRASH MY WEDDING! KILL THEM ALL!"

The gathered pirates lurched to their feet, but they moved sluggishly, barely able to get their weapons out before the hunters were upon them. They went down _hard, _some crashing into the benches and splintering them with their fallen bodies. Blood flew through the air, splattering the glass floor.

Skunk screamed, and his pack roared to life, thick yellow clouds of smoke exploding out of the bottom. Buki coughed, eyes tearing. She felt light-headed, limbs growing slack.

"The wedding! How dare you ruin the wedding! I'll choke you all into unconsciousness with my gas!"

"Damnit Skunk!" Queen cried. "You'll choke all of us as well!"

The ugly little man took the hint, divebombing Slasher and grabbing him right off his feet.

"You seem like the weakest," he sniveled. "So I'll take you out first!"

Slasher smirked, before breaking out of the hold easily. Skunk scampered back, but not fast enough to avoid a fist to the teeth. They went flying everywhere.

"You're not very good at perceiving strength," Slasher stated, as the jetpack-wearing pirate smashed into the wall.

"Skunk!" Boo Jack cried. "You'll pay for that!" He switched into his ball form and rolled across the floor, shredding everything in his path. He only got halfway to Slasher before Drogon kicked him from the side, ricocheting him off the bell that hung from the ceiling.

"Don't think you can get close to the boss without answering ta _me_," the martial artist growled.

"DRAGON TWISTER!"

The gas in the room dissipated, as strong winds carried it and many mooks right through the glass walls of the throne room. The chaos had reached its peak, and in the midst of it was Volta, slashing and stabbing everyone in sight. His tattoos sprung out, slicing and slapping away the pirate scum surrounding him.

The Bear King turned dark red, but not from embarrassment. Veins stood out on his neck and forehead, and he gripped his gun so tightly he cracked the handle.

"DAMN YOU ALL!" he roared, arm raised. Buki saw her chance, jumping up and knocking the pistol right out of his hand and into her own. She twisted through the air.

_BANG!_

The King grimaced as the bullet pierced his foot. He backed into the musical pipes behind him, crushing them under his bulk along with the poor organ player attending them.

The ceremony lay in ruins. Buki couldn't help but wince at all the hard work going up in smoke around her. A sham it may have been, but the castle staff had gone all out. They must think of her as a monster.

"You monster!"

She yelped, barely avoiding a thrown kitchen knife. A dozen angry chefs bore down on her, armed to the teeth.

"You and your friends will die this day," the head chef intoned. "For the crime of WASTING OUR FOOD!"

They charged her, knives barred. But Zoro swooped in, blocking them all with far larger blades. "Forget the food. Focus on your lives." With a sweep of sparks, the knives went to pieces, tips falling to the ground.

Zoro held his swords high, eyes full of murder. _"Get lost_."

The cooks raced for the elevator.

"Thanks for the save," Buki said, sniping another pirate from afar before he could sneak up on Borodo. "What took you guys so long?"

"We got lunch."

"What?!"

"And you didn't bring me anything?" Kibatto cried. "I've been stuck in this cage for hours man!"

"I'm not even on your team, damnit!"

"That's my fault," Slasher spoke up, as he cleaved through the shields of three defending pirates. "I should have gotten a to-go box of something. I'll get you some fried rice and oysters later."

"Hold on," Volta interjected. "Fried rice and _oysters?_"

"It's a surprisingly good combination," Kibatto protested. "Don't judge me."

"Oh, I will. With extreme prejudice."

A burst of gas signaled Skunk One's return to the fight. He cackled through a shattered smile. "Fools, fools! My Devil Gas will paralyze you the moment you breathe it in!"

Buki didn't feel very paralyzed anymore, so she put a bullet in his jetpack. The side ruptured, and Skunk One was sent flying around the room, screeching as he smashed into pipes and furniture. The wedding cake, miraculously untouched by the buffet massacre, exploded into a shower of pink goo as the pirate crashed into it. He flailed wildly, the runaway jetpack pulling him right off the terrace and down to the castle grounds below.

_**BOOM!**_

A giant yellow cloud wafted over the sky, filling the castle grounds. Hundreds of pirates coughed, dropped, and found they could not get up again.

"No, our reinforcements!" Boo cried, attempting to get to his feet. Drogon didn't let him, punching him in the side and sending him flying onto the terrace.

He knocked into a weird cross structure perched on the terrace's edge, keeping him from falling eleven stories to the gas-filled courtyard below. "Bastard! You can't beat me! Not when I've got my Spike-Spike Armor!"

"A Devil Fruit ability?" Drogon questioned.

"I wish. It's a special armor developed by the good citizens of this island, using the Spike-Spike Fruit as the inspiration! Now fall before its might!" He resumed ball form, zooming at Drogon with frightening speed.

"TARGARYEN TATE!"

Drogon's fist went right through the ball's surface, sinking into Boo's pudgy face. He went flying back, smashing into the cross yet again and nearly uprooting it. He popped out of his ball, spitting teeth and a copious amount of blood.

"How?!" he squealed. "I was rolling so fast, how would you know where my face was?! How were you able to punch me in the first place?!"

"Your spikes are a liiiitle too spaced out," Drogon smirked. "If you're precise enough, you can punch the spaces in between just fine."

"Impossible! I roll so fast my spikes are a blur!"

Drogon shrugged. "Like I said, ya gotta be _precise_. And that's what I am, ya bastard."

Boo squealed again, rolling across the stonework even faster than before.

"Oh, and one more thing."

_BAM!_

In a single kick, the rotund pirate was halted, knocked right out of ball form. He was stunned, then horrified to discover his front spikes _shattered. _

"For a guy like me, who needs shoes that can hold up under his own kicks? Those fancy shmancy spikes may as well be _candy canes_."

"I surrender, I surrender!"

"Too late fatty! This is for capturing Buki! BALERION BASH!"

A flurry of blows, tenderizing the large ham.

"TESSARION TETTSUI!"

A horizontal fist, crunching his piggish nose.

"DREAMFYRE DROPKICK!"

A kick that snapped away many of his remaining spikes.

"AND LAST BUT NOT LEAST, _DROGON'S DOLLYEO CHAGI!_"

The roundhouse kick smashed into Boo's stomach, sending him flying off the castle and into the front gate. It exploded in a shower of splinters and stone.

Drogon shook out his hands and legs. "Damn, hitting that bitch still hurt. Glad I dodged the spikes."

The greater battle inside had ended and dozens of pirates littered the ground, none conscious.

"I took out that Boo dude!" Drogon called out. "That's three down now!"

"Borodo is looking for a snail transponder downstairs," Volta replied. "With any luck, the Marines will be here to clean things up soon."

The Bear King was lurching to his feet, one still bleeding profusely. He didn't seem to care though, eyes glowing with hatred. And not in the metaphorical sense, they really were glowing. So were his upper arms, the tuffs of fur ringing them burned away.

"Take down my family, my crew, and me," he said, in a tone that was far too calm. "So that the Marines can storm this island without the threat of me bringing it down."

Volta narrowed his eyes. "So, they did know you were here. Your disappearing act was a big farce."

"When one has all the power, one doesn't need to hide oneself," Bear King sneered. "This island is mine! These people are mine! Power and control are how one becomes successful, and I've become one of the most successful pirates in the East!"

"Maybe so," Slasher conceded. "But if you use power wildly, without restraint or care, then you only inspire those you oppress to rise against you."

"Gahahaha! You don't get it, do you? The reason I've been able to rule this island for seven years is _because _I used restraint! Those damn scientists can complain all they want about the blood I'm spilling with the fruit of their efforts, but I don't disrupt their city, and I don't demand they work without rest! This island is just as prosperous as ever! I'm only using that prosperity for my own ends. And now that my cannon is complete, I'll make this place the centerpiece of my empire! It'll be richer than ever!"

"Your arguments don't mean anything to me," Volta intoned. He pointed his sword at the massive pirate. "So long as you oppress others, I will not rest until you have been defeated."

"Just try it!" Bear King snarled. He slammed his fists together repeatedly until they shone blood red, simmering with heat. "My Hard-Hard Fruit makes my body harder to damage, with the added benefit of generating heat! Your attacks won't affect me!"

Volta ran across the glass, meeting the monster head-on while Zoro and Slasher flanked him. Buki fired from the side, but the Bear simply caught the bullet with his teeth, crunching it and spitting out the shrapnel.

"Buki! Your betrayal sickens me! I thought I was everything you wanted in a man!"

"I don't even know you!" Buki screamed. "You can't force yourself upon everyone and everything you want!"

"Damn you!" the Bear roared, jumping back just before the three swordsmen could slash him. "If that's how you feel, then you can join your friends' fate! Behold!"

He jumped again, this time on top of his precious King Cannon. A detonator stuck out of its top, the sort used with TNT, and Volta's attempt to knock him down was batted away. He slammed his fist into the tank's side, swerving the cannon around to face Buki.

"DIE HEARTBREAKER!" He pumped the detonator.

"No!" Slasher cried.

_BOOM!_

A rainbow's worth of color burst out, showering the gunslinger.

She smirked. "Does it kill you with a thousand papercuts?"

The Bear roared. "Damnit, I forgot about the confetti!"

"You also forgot about me! DROGON'S DOLLYEO CHAGI!"

Drogon slammed his foot into the Bear King's side, knocking him off his cannon and nearly through one of the last bits of window still intact. It cracked under him, but amazingly held when so many smaller minions had been thrown right through it.

Drogon laughed. "Ahahaha, you bitch, you just broke my foot!" He fell over.

Volta winced in sympathy. His injury from Goa was starting to flare, the pain of his toes slowing his movements.

The Bear King righted himself and charged, fists shining brighter than ever. Everyone dodged, and a storm of attacks struck him.

"BULL NEEDLES!"

"RUBICON CROSS!"

"ZWEITE BLITZ, SCHRÄGSTRICH!"

The attacks tore through his tuxedo, but the King himself was unfazed. He didn't seem to _feel _them. And he responded with attacks of his own, slamming his fist into Drogon's chest and smacking Volta across the room. He was far faster than he had any right to be, and before Slasher could even think to dodge, the King headbutted him, the spade tattoo on his forehead glowing with the impact.

Zoro attempted Bull Needles again, but the King barreled right through it, smashing Zoro across the face and knocking Wado right out of his mouth, blood splattering the floor once more.

"Bastard!" Buki shouted, firing at the ceiling.

The King laughed. "Just what do you think you're aiming at?"

_CONK!_

The cage smashed right through the King's head, which Kibatto proceeded to kick repeatedly. "Take that, you big hunk of greasy fat!"

The King growled, grabbing the cage's sides and tearing it in half, Kibatto jumping away before he could be grabbed.

"BRUTUS BRUTALITY!"

A whirlwind of strikes from Slasher sent the big pirate careening across the room. A recovered Zoro was waiting for him.

"CRAB SEIZE!"

The guillotine move snapped the King's head back, spittle flying from his lips. His foot spurted blood and gave out beneath him, just as Zoro jumped into the air, swords flashing.

"TIGER TRAP!"

The King grunted, smashed against the glass. It was hard to see the massive turning key underneath all the debris, but Volta was suddenly wary of how screwed they would all be if the glass broke, and the chasm beneath filled with bodies and broken benches.

Thankfully, the floor held, not even scratched by the impact of the Bear's massive frame. He slowly rose, every last inch of him a bright steaming orange. His strikes hadn't landed long enough to leave lasting burns before, but Volta did not doubt they would now.

"To hell with all of you," he growled. "I'll burn and break your bodies, then hang them from my balcony for the buzzards and the vultures."

Slasher glanced at the remaining crosses. "I think that's a terrace, actually."

"_GRAAAAAAAAAH!"_

"Bear King!"

_**BOOOM!**_

A few more glass panels burst from the blast, and debris was tossed around by the displaced air alone. A dark blur shot across the room, faster than Volta could track. A red trail was left in its wake, some chemical he really didn't want to breathe in.

And then, the second sound. A crash of impact. The trail had gone over the side of the island, and while Volta couldn't see ground zero, he didn't need to. Everything trembled, the great key groaning, and for one hideous moment, Volta felt everything _tilt_.

.~===)==============={%}

Denny paled, an unlit cigarette falling from his fingers. The point of impact had become a tower, thousands of tons of water blown skyward. The shockwave hit a nearby patrol, throwing the ship into the air and shredding the masts.

_I'm going to die._

The thought popped into his head, with the same casual acceptance as something like _I need to use the restroom, _or, _my foot itches. _Denny collapsed onto the sand, eyes twitching. His lighter slipped from his other hand.

Death did not come for him, or anyone else. The shockwave hit the tower but failed to shake it, or if it did it was invisible to the human eye. The ships rocked, and the waves rolled, but all Denny felt was a strong breeze that knocked him on his back.

He lay there for a bit, too stunned to move until the ever-growing waves entered his field of vision. He jumped to his feet and sprinted to the cave, barely getting out of the path of a small tsunami that rolled through the docked ships, overturning some and smashing others into each other. Riggings became tangled, deckhands were thrown overboard, and the prized flagship of the fleet was smacked so hard the hull cracked. Or maybe that had been something else. Denny wasn't too sure, his ears were still ringing from the initial explosion.

He surveyed the ruinous state of the fleet, and wondered, for the first time, if the King Cannon was a good idea after all.

.~===)==============={%}

Volta should have been stone deaf, but his ears were just as superhuman as the rest of him. As the red dust cleared and his ears stopped ringing, he finally saw who had fired the damn thing.

Borodo leaned against the pump, hands clenched around it. He breathed heavily, arms shaking. "The Marines are on their way!" he announced. "I told them that we'd beaten the Bear King already! And now that he really is…WHAT?!"

Sadly, the Bear King was still standing, another burst of his frightening speed letting the shell go _just_ past him. His one regal cape had been mangled, but his body remained infuriatingly unblemished.

"How?!" he roared. "The Cannon requires my strength for the pump to be pulled tight again! How did you even load the shell?!"

Borodo grinned, rolling back his left sleeve. A gleaming metal arm caught the light of a thousand reflecting shards.

"The power of steam and steel! And with that power, I'll make sure my next shot doesn't miss!"

"You'll never fire my precious cannon again!" The King swiped a gun from the floor, cocking and aiming it in one fluid motion. "Die!"

_BANG!_

Borodo had no time to dodge the bullet, but he didn't need to. Forgotten in the chaos, Akisu ran forward and jumped.

An inarticulate scream tore out of Volta's throat, running to block the bullet himself. But he was too late. The little guy took it in the stomach, the force of the impact knocking him across the room and through the glass.

"AKIIISUUUU!"

Borodo leaped after him, through the opening and off the side of the castle. He ripped at his pack, and another parachute sprang out.

The Bear King watched them go, a disgustingly big smile on his face. "Gahahahaha, how nice of those two to take themselves out of the equation! So many dumb kids these days…"

He turned back toward Volta, as cheerful as a kid himself. "Are you ready to die now?"

Three men rushed him from behind, their faces etched in fury.

"BRUTUS BRUTALITY!"

"HAWK WAVE!"

"DREAMFYRE DROPKICK!"

The attacks smashed into him, but the smile didn't fall from his face. With a clap of his hands, his skin shone even brighter, and the three fighters fell back, blades and good foot steaming.

"Come now, little hunters. You've already tried all that. Honey, stop hiding and finish these bastards."

Volta froze. Had no one taken her out? Where was she?

He was answered in the rudest manner possible, a geyser of jelly bursting from a nearby pipe and swamping him. His hat was knocked from his head, and soon he found himself encased in a growing wave of liquid.

_Another Devil Fruit power, _he realized. _Verdammt. It's that bloody bastard Albedya all over again. _

He was beyond grateful for the naming scheme of these fruits, always upfront about what the power was. Didn't make the power itself any less dangerous, and in truth, this was worse than the Glug-Glug. The jelly was just solid enough to escape difficult, and every time he got his head out for air, it would swamp him with even greater speed, trying to get into his mouth and suffocate him. Through the blurry haze, he could see his friends struggling just as much, the jelly submerging them.

Volta couldn't hold his breath forever. His movements slowed and his eyes stung. Everything sounded very far away, and darkness began to creep along the edges of his vision.

Was this it? Doomed to die in the jelly construct of a psychotic pirate woman? He wanted to growl, to scream, but he would die in minutes as the jelly filled his lungs. All he could do was squirm.

_SHUMP! SHUMP! SHUMP!_

Volta was thrown against the ground, the jelly vanishing completely. His senses returned to him, and he took deep gasping breaths.

The hat! Its pin had fallen out, and the jelly must have warped into it after getting too close! Other defeated pirates were sucked in as well, along with a large amount of debris. Volta jumped to his feet and sheathed his sword, running around and grabbing the hat by its top. Where was the pin?

"What the hell did you do to Honey?!" the King roared. He stomped toward Volta, batting aside any attacks. He had grown so bright he was hard to look at, and the throne room was starting to feel like a sauna. He charged him, hands outstretched to grab and burn.

There it was! Volta snatched it up and plunged it into the hat, just before Bear could reach him. He had no time to look surprised as a cavalcade of jelly, wreckage, and limp bodies hit him square in the chest, knocking him back. The bleeding foot, looking more ragged by the minute, gave out once more as the King collapsed.

"Buki!" Slasher shouted. "How did you wound him?"

"I took him by surprise," Buki replied. "He didn't have his power up."

"But he does now," Drogon groaned, holding his broken foot. "And he ain't turnin it off any time soon."

It was a bad situation made worse by the swirling jelly, which began to consolidate into the shape of a woman. Clothing within the liquid wrapped around her, and she solidified into Honey, an expression of rage twisting her face.

"You can turn _into _jelly?!" Volta exclaimed.

Queen tried to respond, but a sword through the gut cut her off. Her midsection jellified, and she responded with a blast of the stuff from her fingers. Slasher fell back, slipping on the floor and falling to the ground.

"The power of a Logia Fruit is in its invincibility," Queen cooed. "No sword, fist, or bullet will even hurt me."

That…was horribly broken. And there was nothing they could do to counter it. Between her and the King, the situation was looking bleak. Did they retreat? Find some way to get them out of the throne room and away from the key? But the Marines already thought that they'd won. Their reputation was on the line thanks to Borodo.

Drogon couldn't fight anymore, Zoro helping him get away from the melee. Slasher was covered in jelly, burned from constant barrages from the King. Buki was running out of bullets. And Volta's foot trembled in agony. Rebreaking his toes was a real possibility now.

What could he _do? _Their powers were overwhelming. The bright glow of the Bear's skin shimmered with power, and Honey was already melting, becoming a swirling vortex of lethal liquid.

They had him in their sights, moving forward with the intent of pincering him. Drown, or burn to death? Those were his options unless he did something soon.

He glanced at his hat, still held tightly in his hands. Perhaps an answer lay within? Nothing but tea, books, a few makeshift maps, and other supplies lay within. He doubted salted crackers could defeat these monsters. The only thing that could serve as a makeshift weapon was the pin in the hat's tip, but Volta might as well use his belt buckle, for all the good it would do. His _sword _couldn't pierce Bear's skin, pricking him would be useless. All the damn thing could do was suppress the hat's power.

Wait.

Suppress the power. The _Devil Fruit_ power. The only reason he could wear the hat without its Room-Room ability warping him was that the pin kept it from happening. The hat wasn't alive, it couldn't think, at least not in a conscious way. The power was automatic. But the pin still suppressed it.

Could it be?

"TIME TO DIE!" The King charged in, eyes glowing with rage and heat. Volta felt the intensity, but he no longer feared it. He leaped above the King's fist, dodging a torrent of jelly at the same time. The hat was flung away, pin between his fingers. He stuck the King's shoulder, crying out as his fingertips ignited.

And then they went out. The glow vanished, as if a light switch had been flipped somewhere in the King's body. Blood trickled down the spot where the pin had pierced him. The King paled, and his rage gave way to fear.

He reached to pull the pin out, but Volta kicked his hand with all his strength. A snap resounded through the room, and the King roared, clutching his broken wrist.

"The pin!" Slasher cried. "It was seastone! Damnit, why didn't I realize sooner?!"

"Your brain doesn't work real well when you feed it salted crackers for a week," Buki laughed, as he fired her last bullet into the King's other foot. He fell over again, and Volta doubted he'd be getting up this time.

Well, best to be sure.

"How can this be?! My army, my canon, my family! It was all so perfect!"

Volta's response was to rip the pin from his arm and punch him right in the ribs before he could think to reactivate his power. They cracked, and Volta followed it up with a roundhouse kick, slamming his good foot into his chest so hard the crunch could be heard across the room. Maybe across the whole island. The King's eyes rolled up in his head, and he went flying into the last bit of glass left, shattering it and falling to the grounds below.

_**THUD!**_

The castle shook, and the ceiling began to collapse, water from the pond above spilling over the sides and creating waterfalls around them.

"The bigger they are, the harder they fall," Zoro mused.

Honey stared like a fish out of water, powers forgotten in the wake of her big brother's defeat. Volta didn't even look at her as he stuck the pin in her arm, and before the pain could rouse her from her shock, he chopped her neck. She went down like a sack of bricks.

"The ceiling's gonna fall!" Drogon shouted. The groaning and crashing could have told Volta that. He hoisted Queen over his shoulder and ran from the room, out onto the terrace. The other hunters followed, Slasher and Buki dragging a number of the downed pirates with them.

A horrendous shattering filled the air, and the throne room collapsed, tons of stone and water smashing down on top of the glass floor. Amazingly, it was the stone that broke first, scuffing its surface but failing to even crack it. The water drained away, leaving Slasher's ship unharmed but stranded on a pile of wreckage.

Volta glanced at Slasher, who surveyed his beached pride and joy with an expression of despair. "How the fuck are we gonna get it down now?"

Buki pointed up. "A small part of the roof is still intact, and it kinda looks like a tube. The wall behind the throne was made of stone too, so maybe it's some sort of water lift."

Slasher nodded. "I see. But how exactly are we gonna get it back up there?"

"I could try to kick it up," Drogon said while cradling his foot. "Just not today."

Slasher shook his head. "You're not strong enough, and if you were you'd damage the keel. Maybe we can ask the citizens of this island to make a lift of some sort, hoist it back up."

"We've got bigger problems," Zoro interrupted, pointing to the castle grounds below. Skunk's gas cloud had dispersed, and while he and his siblings were still unconscious, their many soldiers were beginning to rise. Some reached for their fallen weapons.

.~===)==============={%}

Borodo parachuted to the ground, eyes searching all the while. Fear squeezed his heart, making it beat faster by the minute, and a cold sweat had broken on his forehead. Where was Akisu? Where could he have fallen?

He found him in a tree, banged up but not too badly. Well, except for the _fucking hole in his stomach_, and just thinking those words filled Borodo with shame. How could he have failed so badly, that his adopted young bro had to save him from certain death?

He detached his parachute and fell amongst the branches, landing near Akisu.

"Akisu, speak to me! Please!"

The kid grinned, turning over and pulling a metal plate out from under his shirt. A very dented plate. "Always be prepared," he said with a smile. "It only hurts a little."

Relief flooded Borodo's veins, and he felt tears spring to his eyes. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry! If I had been faster, more prepared, more, more…if I'd planned this out better I'd-"

Akisu shushed him with a shake of his head. "Stop beating yourself up, big bro. When you lost your arm saving me from that shark, you would have died if I hadn't been there to stop the bleeding."

Borodo paused, the events of that day replaying themselves. "That's right. And I wouldn't have this arm without you either."

"I saved you then, and I saved you now," Akisu continued. "Just like you saved me, big bro. We're always saving each other, because that's what family does."

The tears spilled over, and Borodo had to put his face in his arms to choke back his sobs. "Thank you Akisu. You truly are the best little brother I could ask for."

The soldiers down below began to stir, so Borodo and Akisu retreated deeper into the tree. "Borodo, I do have a question. I didn't get a chance to ask before since things got so crazy."

"What is it?"

"Why did we steal the hunters' ship and leave it in Trump Pirate's waters?"

Borodo stiffened. He bowed his head. "Akisu, I need to be honest with you. My plan was never to steal the Diamond Clock."

"What?! I thought that was always our plan! Don't you wanna be the Thief King?"

"I do," Borodo confirmed. "But when it comes to you, stealing isn't nearly as important as giving, and I wanted to give you answers about your past. And…I want to give you a home."

"A home?!" Akisu cried. "But my home is with you!"

Borodo grimaced. "I don't plan on staying in the East forever. I could spend half a century visiting every island on this ocean, but to truly be the king, the best of the best, there's only one place you can go."

Akisu gasped. "The Grand Line."

"That's right. Everyone's stronger, everything's bigger, and most importantly, the stealing is much, _much_ harder…and all the more rewarding for it. I want to rob from the Emperors, from the hallowed halls of Mariejois itself! I want to etch my name into the annals of criminal history!"

Now tears sprung from Akisu's eyes. "Why can't we do that together?"

The older brother winced. "The Grand Line is a harsh place, Akisu. I could die. It's all too likely that I will. And if I took you with me, you could die too. I'll be damned before I take my little brother into danger he couldn't handle."

Akisu jumped up, face red. "What do you mean I can't handle it? If I'm not there to watch your back, then you'll be dead for sure! You've saved me twice, and I've saved you twice, and if we're ever in danger on the Line, we'll just keep saving each other! Don't insult our bond big bro!"

Borodo frowned, considering the words of his little brother. He sighed. "Akisu…back to what I said before, my plan was never to steal the Clock. It was to have someone strong beat the Trump Pirates. This is your home island. Your innate talent with machinery is proof of that. And I wanted to free it so that you could live a life of peace."

"Fuck peace!"

Borodo gasped. "Language!"

"I'm sorry, but I'm really not, because I don't want to live here! I don't want this place to suffer under the Trumps, but settle down with my parents? No way! You found me in a basket floating on the sea, without food or water! Would responsible parents ever do that to their child?"

"That's…actually an excellent point. Who _would _do that?"

"I'm sticking with you no matter what!" Akisu declared. "Brothers stick together!"

Borodo smiled, tearing up all over again. "I guess I'm not that good a big bro after all. I should have considered your feelings about this."

"You're considering them now," Akisu said brightly. "But there's something else you have to do, and that's apologizing to those hunters."

The thief hesitated at first, then nodded his head. "That's right. Slasher will probably kill me, but it's what I gotta do. Even a thief like me has his honor."

A crash from above drew their attention. The Bear King fell from his throne room, smashing into one of the small buildings and crumpling it under his weight. He didn't get back up.

"They did it," Borodo whispered, mindful of the moving pirates below. But the sheer joy he felt resonated through his statement. "Akisu, there are two things I need you to do for me. Meet with your parents. You don't have to stay with them, or even like them, but it will bring me some peace of mind. Every man has the right to know where they came from."

Akisu pouted slightly, but he nodded his head. "Okay. What's the second thing?"

"Eat this."

Before the kid could get away, Borodo shoved a bar of soap into his mouth.

.~===)==============={%}

The waters before the cave lay shrouded in mist, a lasting effect of the King Cannon's shot. The lookouts couldn't see through it, and the scout ship sent out had disappeared inside.

Denny felt a cold sweat break out on his forehead, a prickling of the skin sending shivers down his spine. The mist rose so high it seemed to blot out the sun, though a move to the east side of the cave entrance revealed it again. Denny moved, letting the warmth from above ease his fears.

What exactly did he have to be afraid of? They had finished the Cannon and tested it, nothing more. That must have been what had happened. What other reason could there be?

He wondered if Joker was getting proper medical attention. Again, a silly thought! Of course he was, he was one of the Siblings!

_Such notions of dread are unbecoming of me._

With this thought, he turned back toward the gathered officers, if they could even be called that. Donny and Danny stood at attention, a very un-pirate-like thing to do. But their numbers had grown so much over the past few years, and a measure of discipline was now necessary.

"Damage report?"

"No ships lost," Danny replied. He tussled his purple hair, eyes shifting. "But plenty of wounds and entanglements. The damage to the _Heart _will take a few days to seal up properly."

"See to it at once," Denny commanded. "I want all of these ships ready to sail within the week. The Cannon's done, which means the order to sail out will be coming down soon."

Donny shook his head, red locks swaying. "Fraid not for a time. Apparently, the King is getting married."

Denny's eyes shot up. "Really?! After all these years?"

"And all those advertisements," Danny snickered.

"Don't tease the boss," Denny growled. "We'll be in big enough trouble as it is if we don't get these ships in ship-shape. How's he gonna act if he finds out his fleet got messed up just as he's ready to start his conquering spree? We're lucky getting him his bride took the King's mind off the five ships he lost today, or are heads would already be rolling!"

"Good point," Donny gulped. "We'll get on it on the-"

_BOOM!_

Silence. The bustling noise of the harbor died, as a new sound faintly echoed throughout the cave. But it did not come from the cave.

_BOOM! __BOOM!_

"Cannon fire?" Donny squeaked. "Who could be attacking us?"

"Are those idiots firing at sharks again?" Denny groused. "That's all it is boys. Now get back to-"

_BOOM!_

A dark shape blew through the mist. It sailed into the cave, smashing into the side of the nearest vessel.

_**BOOM!**_

The cannonball exploded, taking the ship with it. A small thing, barely the size of a caravel, and its crew died with it, blown into chunks of meat and bone, limbs flying off into the water and onto neighboring crafts. Splinters rained down upon the gathered pirates, and Danny collapsed, crying out as he held a hand over his right eye.

"We're under attack!" Denny roared. "Prepare for battle!" He turned toward the mist, glaring at the dark shape that grew ever clearer as it exited the mist.

His glare soon fell away as another two shadows emerged from the fog. And then another three after them. And another five after _them._ The very first shadow burst from the mist, a Marine man o'war in all its imperial splendor. Denny felt his blood freeze, and an old smugglers rhyme popped into his head, one he'd been told on his first day drug running.

_Tan n' blue, it ain't comin for you. Dark green n' red, it's after yer head. _

All Marine ships had cannons, but the caravels and cruisers handled patrols, troop transport, and the island-based mop ups. Lightly armed, brightly colored, and perfect for civilian interaction, the Navy's handsome face. Man o'wars were the blood-stained teeth behind it. Bright red doors dotted the aft castles, a foreboding sign of the carnage to come, and their dark green hulls bristled with cannons. Four long guns flank the bowsprit, which itself served as a battering ram if the fighting got up and personal. A mass of Marines roared from the deck, their cutlasses flashing.

All four of the guns were smoking, but Denny knew they'd be loaded again soon.

"BATTLE STATIONS!"

_**BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!**_

The guns fired, one after another, and Denny jumped behind a storage box, his next orders forgotten. The cannonballs flew into the cave, obliterating the nearest ships and reducing their men to a fine red mist. Denny feared for the key, but none of the shots went that far into the tunnel.

"RETURN FIRE!"

His order went unanswered, dozens of hardened pirates running form the cave's mouth. The next wave of man o'wars left the mist, but they did not add to the cannon fire, most likely in fear of destabilizing the island.

But the small shred of hope this gave Denny was snuffed by the appearance of another shadow, one that _dwarfed _the emerging warships. A demonic figurehead tore through the mist, the ship behind it a colossal behemoth of towers and gilded rails. Was this one of the dreaded battleships of Marine HQ, the fleet killers of the Grand Line?

Why were the Marines attacking in the first place?! The Bear King had this island hostage through the key from Trump Castle!

…unless he didn't. Unless something had gone horribly wrong. Unless the unspeakable had occurred.

An inside job? An assassination? He knew these men. He knew _all _the men. Seven years of service bred familiarity, companionship, a sense of unwavering loyalty. Contact with the outside world was restricted anyway, there were no chances of-

"…no."

"No?!" Donny cried. "No what?! We're getting massacred!"

His head jerked back, more red mist filling the air. Denny flung himself away, and what felt like hellfire sliced into his back. Donny collapsed, his body jerking as more bullets tore through it.

"GATLING GUNS!" a pirate screamed, right before he too was cut down. The pirates were in full retreat now, many falling as they tried to return fire with their muskets. The first couple man o'wars had made landfall, their troops thundering down the planks and storming the beaches. Several of the gatlings gleamed from the ships' bows, spewing death into the Trump hordes.

"They can't risk destroying the key," Denny mumbled. "Cannonballs are too destructive. Can bullets hurt the key?" Who was he even talking too?

He didn't feel any pain, and he couldn't hear much beyond a dull ring. The world seemed to darken, to blur. Or was that…tears. It was tears. He was crying.

"I did this," Denny said to no one. "I let them in. I let them in."

Another pirate, another of his men, his comrades, collapsed near him, knife falling from limp fingers. Denny picked it up. An explosion propelled a splinter into his arm, and he ran, away from the guns and the bullets, from the men in white uniforms tearing apart seven years of work.

How long had it been since the shadows appeared? Seven minutes? Had seven years been lost in seven minutes?

_The tunnels. Safety in the tunnels. _

He ran to the nearest opening, deep within the cave. It led down into the depths, the dank rock of the undersea island, where the groaning of the great key reverberated without end.

He grabbed a lantern from the shelf, the one made for such travels, and ran into the darkness. The screams and guns faded away, echoes and whispers, and then nothing. Nothing but the slaps of his feet against the cold hard rock beneath them.

How long did he run? How far did he go? He couldn't say, would never remember. But he found himself on the floor, shaking and crying, the lantern near him but no longer in his hands.

He'd done this. He'd doomed them all. Those bastards must have wounded Joker and played him for a fool. Why did he ever entertain the idea that Joker could have fallen on his own? How long had he practiced on those stairs, amongst those traps that would have grown ever more predictable? He hadn't believed in his boss. He'd believed in strangers instead.

"I bet there wasn't any fucking funeral," he moaned. "No grandma or lost suits. Nothing but lies, lies, lies, LIES LIES LIES!" He punched the wall, skin splitting on his knuckles, and the pain grounded him, brought him to his senses.

Except, what sense was there? The Trumps were doomed, kaput, out of the running. Those assassins must have been successful, for the Marines to finally risk an assault like this. All the lieutenants were likely dead. His men were dead. He felt dead. He could _be _dead, with this knife. Why go on? He'd given his late teens and early twenties to the Trumps. Now he stood at twenty-five, with nothing to show for it. His best years had been wasted. He was wasted.

He gripped the knife, pressing its edge to his throat. Shit, cold! No, he couldn't do it, it would be too painful, and he couldn't handle any more pain. His back was wet with the blood where the bullet had grazed him, arm dripping where the splinter had speared him.

Footsteps. A growing light. Denny froze. Had others followed him down here? Were they his men, what was left of them?

"Who's down here! You're under arrest!"

_Shit shit shit fuck! Oh god, please no, please!_

He was going to spend his life in prison, rotting away from the inside out. He'd be tortured and interrogated. He'd be sent to Impel Down, to suffer forever. They say you never die once you pass its burning gates, not even when they tear off your head and stuff your neck full of brimstone.

The light grew brighter. No choice, no hesitance. If he died, he would die fighting. The knife shook in his hands, but he steadied them. As soon as he rounded the bend, as soon as he saw his face and the whites of his eyes-

…

_What?_

He was dressed like a Marine, navy-colored pants and a white sleeveless shirt, blue neckerchief and baseball cap. His musket was the same musket a million other Marines carried. Standard as standard got, more of a mook then he was.

His face was the same as Denny's. Same square-like jaw, same high cheekbones. His sideburns were shorter and he had no goatee, but from the light of the lantern, Denny could tell his hair was the same color as his too. Even the fucking_ eyebrows, _the lines on his face, the little squint of his eyes. The slight hook of the nose. The light brown of his irises.

They stared at each other, neither moving, neither blinking. Their faces were truly identical now, perfect replicas of shock and confusion. The world around them fell away, the groaning of the key fading to a whisper.

Long-lost brothers? A hiccup in some family's bloodline? Or coincidence, fate bringing impossibilities out of the ether?

The Marine's mouth twisted, trying to find words and failing. Denny spoke first, in the tone of the reverent.

"I'm saved."

What followed next felt like a dream. Or perhaps a nightmare. The musket was fired, and the bullet missed, and Denny sank his knife into something soft. Stomach? Leg? Neck? It didn't matter. He kept stabbing. He stabbed as if his life depended on it, because it did.

And then he wasn't stabbing anymore. There wasn't much air down here, and he collapsed against the wall, breathing hard. The Marine gasped for air too but didn't find it, blood bubbling out of his mouth. Something vital had given way.

And then he didn't do anything. Gun fell into the pool of blood, growing steadily on the ground.

_Did anyone hear that shot? The echo effect down here isn't strong, so I could be safe for the next couple minutes. _

There was an implicit statement in those thoughts. That he could do what he planned to do quickly, without pity or feeling. That he could sacrifice something just as vital as what he had just taken from the younger soldier before him.

He stared into the light of the lantern. In a way, it felt like staring into himself. Yes, he could do this. The details were working themselves out in his mind, like clockwork.

"I will survive."

He shivered. It had sounded resolute in his head, but against the walls of the cave, the words held an ominous weight. Perhaps that was only right.

He stripped off everything, even his boxers, the ones his mother had made for him. He wondered what she would think of him now, but he'd never met her, so why should he care? He stripped the Marine next, undoing his shoes and slipping off his pants. Most of his clothes were bloodsoaked, the once white shirt slashed all over the front. He abandoned it. The hat would serve, and it was spotless. Instead, he used the shirt to clean off his knife. Without a mirror, he cut himself twice, but that only added to the effect. His goatee and half his sideburns fluttered to the ground.

"I will survive," he repeated. It sounded better that time.

Now came the hard part. He sliced into his chest and stomach, deep enough to cut the skin. Only by biting down on his own clothing did he keep from screaming. They bled, but not terribly. Wounds would distract from any mannerisms he exhibited that his lookalike had not, and over time he'd piece together what needed to be done to keep up the charade. He didn't plan on using it long anyway, but details mattered. You learned that quickly when you became a bookkeeper.

One last step, and this could kill him. But he'd come so far already. With a grunt, he bashed his head against the wall. The pain blinded him, and everything went gray. He fell into the pool, which had begun to congeal.

Stars and stripes, and a seagull that screamed bloody murder at him. He supposed he deserved that last one. Then all became clear again. He had a splitting headache, and the final excuse for what was to come. Now all he needed to do was sell the part.

He piled his clothing, his knife, and the body together, then opened the lantern and ignited the Marine's ragged shirt. He tossed it on top of the pile, picked up the musket, and walked back to the surface. He didn't look back. He wasn't sure he'd be able to go forward if he did.

.~===)==============={%}

"Commodore, this is Hardy," the Lieutenant Commander called. "I've secured the cavern. Most of the enemy pirates have been destroyed or captured."

The transponder snail glared, its bulging cheeks flush with red swirls. _"And the elevator?"_

"Secured. We forced one of the pirate leaders to clear it for lowering, and we're loading our best troops into it as we speak to secure the outpost above."

"_Excellent work," _the Commodore replied, a smirk curling the snail's lips. _"I'll be there soon. I can't wait to finally impound those audacious brats!" CA-LICK_

Hardy put away his snail, turning toward the key. Its width was incredible, as was its blemishless surface.

"These Clockwork people make some incredible things," Hardy muttered. He stroked his mustache, wondering if the Commodore would take an interest. He usually did when something strange and powerful lay in his sight.

"Captain?"

Hardy looked behind him, and all thoughts of the Commodore fled his mind. "Kubomi?! What the hell happened to you?!"

Kubomi, Seaman First Class. A Marine with promise, which Hardy had taken notice of. He didn't see any of that promise now. The soldier was shirtless, bleeding profusely from his stomach and arm. His head was even worse, a nasty gash spilling more blood over his face and neck. But his eyes were the worst, dull and colorless. The eyes of a man who had seen far too much in too little time.

"Sir…captain…I…I…"

"MEDIC!" Hardy roared. Several Marines scrambled to his side, their shirts and hats marked with the red cross. A stretcher was prepared, and Kubomi collapsed into it. In minutes he was wrapped tight, a healing salve applied to his wounds.

"They're worse than they look," one of the medics assured. "We can stabilize him back on the ship."

"I…killed them."

The medics paused, and Hardy blinked. "Killed who?"

"Pirates…in the caverns…underneath. Killed them…to the last...man."

"Well done Kubomi," Hardy said with a smile. "I'll see you rewarded for your sacrifice."

Kubomi blinked, eyes unfocused. "Kubomi? Who…is Kubomi?"

"Oh, shit," one of the medic's breathed. "His head…"

Hardy teared up, the implications hollowing him. "Don't worry soldier. We'll help you remember. Your squad will help you remember."

"Squad…ah, yeah…I have a squad…"

"GET HIM TO THE SHIP IMMEDIATELY!" Hardy screamed. The medics picked up the stretcher, carrying it as fast as they could without upsetting its occupant.

"You're going to be alright," a medic said brightly. "The Navy's got the best medical equipment on the seas. You know what the Navy is, right? We'll take care of you soldier. You will survive."

Kubomi chuckled weakly. "I know."


	17. Opportunistic Justice

**Author's Note:**

**This one is a bit later then intended, on account of the ongoing situation in the world today. Had to move out of my dorm early, and on top of that I got knocked out by a bad bug for a while. **

**I'm going to try out a new schedule. A thousand words a day, for two weeks. 14K chapters on the bi-weekly reg. I can't pump out 30K giants like some other fanfic authors I know, not without a month or two of effort, and it's more important to me that you guys get to read this as regularly as possible. I hope my work can take your minds off of what's been going on lately. **

**Shout out to all my followers! **

**Artolius, AssengoSXS, Badr Mata, Bilburt14, Bombinomikon, Burning Moonlight, Clarky1013, , Dao of concentration, DiagonD, Donto40, DraconicDuelist, Dubrovnik, EXNativo, Eater2891, Etone, FIREmizuchi, Fantasy Quirksandmore, Fluffy Lightfoot, Freakymickey, Fred Teccio Godinho, GoSage44, Grimlock987, Gyoza101, HelpfulNudge, Hira Shah1, ImmortalSouls, Inquisitor Dave, Kalatrixx, Laradhel, LividTech, Mathjakt, , Papyrus19, RavenCarver, Silver Arcanine, StarShredder, TatsuShi, ThunderBasilisk, TwistLuck.L, ZKARYX, Zyr0TruthCanExist, aLuffyMan, alba3ros, busterman221, coopercharlie18, jdawg5101, kamecko, kd35693, reon294, sivan234, thebooklist, tomer3392, villaverdek6, zognoo, and zzeuss. **

**Every last one of you is awesome, and I hope you're all enjoying reading this story as much as I am writing it. **

**I also want to give a special shout out to EXNativo for his exquisite editing. An Inkbolt chapter isn't complete without his polishing. **

**There's a lot more to cover before we get to the Grand Line, but the path is open and we are charging full speed ahead! **

**Yeomanaxel, the Verified Yeo. **

* * *

**Chapter 17 – Opportunistic Justice**

Marine competence ranged wildly from branch to branch, ocean to ocean. It was the great lament of many good soldiers to be saddled with a poor commander, and the inverse was often just as true.

Commodore Nelson Royale, the Eighth Branch's commander, was a dichotomy of excess and excellence. He claimed to be of royal lineage, one he took so much pride in he'd changed his name to reflect his status. But not a single soldier under his command could tell you which line he was from specifically. Such details were, in Nelson's own words, "pitiful trifles you needn't concern yourselves with. Now fetch me another steak!"

Nelson could not walk, restricted to an ornate red throne. His distended stomach filled it completely, a testament to his voraciousness. It was so large that Lieutenant Commander Hardy had estimated half a squad could squeeze into it, should the Commodore ever decide to feast upon his men. The unlucky grunts that emptied the throne's septic tank were certain he already had. How else to explain the disappearance of some of their smallest chore boys?

But astonishingly, the Commodore was proud of his morbid obesity, so much so he'd had the Marine sigil tattooed on his gut. It sat right under the gilded ruby he claimed as proof of his royal status, the centerpiece of a greasy necklace that disappeared into the folds of his neck. Or chins, it was hard to tell one from the other. His face was a red and sweaty ruin, cheeks marked with strange crimson swirls that squirmed when he laughed, and a thin mustache curled out from each side of his head, which Nelson had a fondness of stroking with his perpetually food-stained fingers.

Despite these features, as well as the odious manner in which he treated his caretakers, most Marines were quite happy to have him as their commander, for one simple reason.

He didn't lose.

Over five dozen flags hung within the halls of his ship, every last one of them earned through his tactical savvy and specialized fleet formations. No pirate crew had ever managed to slip around his Sneaky Snake, break through his Crane Wing, or endure the onslaught of his Roaring Tiger.

The Crane Wing was a personal favorite, a defensive position employing a half-ring of man o'wars, the space between them filled with connected iron chains that entangled anything that came against it. Perfect for stopping an enemy pirate fleet in its tracks or blockading an island's harbor.

As for mop-up operations…well, Volta would have had only one word to describe the tactics employed had he seen them. Blitzkrieg.

After securing the elevator, the pirate's command center was swiftly dispatched, and Marines flooded the island proper. What followed was nothing short of a revolution. As soon as the citizens saw the storm of white, black and blue, they turned on their pirate patrols and brought them down. If the Marines were here, then the great key was safe. The Bear King had been defeated.

The Trump's lackeys came to the same conclusion, and most surrendered. For many new recruits to the crew, this was nothing short of the apocalypse, while more seasoned hands were already making plans to plead their cases before the court. Surely one didn't get set to Impel Down for the crime of walking around with a rifle. Most had never needed to fire them.

Pin Joker woke up in the town's hospital around the same time Marines crashed through his door, guns leveled.

"Damn," the bandaged swordsman groaned, hands rising. "I'm cucked."

The Marine squad leader blinked. "I believe the word you're looking for is _fucked_, bud."

The castle, what was left of it anyway, was secured soon after the city. The four Trumps were gathered up, seastone cuffs given to them all just to be on the safe side. They were all on their feet now, battered and broken, the King a sobbing wreck. Volta felt no pity, only watched to see if the massive man would use his strength to make a break for it. But he didn't, his spirit broken. Along with most of his ribs.

And the Marines just kept on coming.

"There must be thousands now," Zoro said. "How big was the fleet you called in?"

"The one that patrols this area is the Eight Branch," Borodo replied. "They were always ready to pounce the moment the Bear and his siblings went down."

Drogon laughed. "Well, all's well that ends well."

"Mister Drogon, sir?" A young Marine ran up to him, cradling a twisted hunk of gold with a few broken jewels in it. "We were able to recover the Diamond Clock. To the best of our ability."

The martial artist gaped like a fish out of water, eyes bulging. "Best of your ability?! BEST OF YOUR ABILITY?! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

"Ffffphahahahahaha!" Volta collapsed, tears streaming from his eyes. Borodo started laughing too. So did Buki. So did Drogon, but it was more sobbing than anything else.

Slasher shrugged. "Hey, thirty-eight and a half mil, guys. You're right Drogon, all's well that _does_ end well."

"FUCK YOU!"

Another Marine ran up, one wearing a coat. Between that and his mustache, he looked very in charge. "Thank you all for your services here today. Due to the immediacy of the call, we don't have the bounty money on hand, but if you give us your snail number, we can send you a code you can renew at a Marine base anywhere in the Crebe Region."

Slasher nodded. "Sounds good. Just glad to be getting paid this time."

Volta perked his ears as Slasher gave the number. Huh, it was just like a regular cellphone number. That wouldn't be hard to remember.

"Oh? Another officer skimped out on you guys? That's illegal."

"There was a whole thing." Slasher waved his hands. "Nobles were involved."

The officer frowned. "Were you the guys that tried to catch Dareda? I heard about that."

"It was a terrible job," Slasher grumbled. "I'll never take another on that island. Marines can't even step on it because of some bullshit a World Noble pulled years ago."

The officer tensed, eyes darting to his men nearby. But Slasher had spoken quietly, and none were in earshot. He relaxed. "Well, good news on that front. _Another _World Noble was there at the time, and he revoked the protection. That kingdom is practically a police state now, at least until we figure out just what the hell's been happening there, and who we need to arrest. I suspect most of those nobles and their army is getting sent off somewhere."

Slasher narrowed his eyes. "Yeah…somewhere, huh?"

The officer shrugged. "Well, that's not my region, so I shouldn't say much. Lieutenant Commander Hardy, by the way. I hope we can work together sometime in the future. You hunters seem decent. Can't say that for most of 'em."

He walked away, most of the castle's forces cuffed in front of him. They marched in a long line, the siblings at its head, down the mountain and back to the elevator. No mines went off. Had someone deactivated them?

Volta wasn't sure, but it didn't matter that much. His mind turned to other things. Other explosive things. He took out his scabbard, studying it.

"Borodo, where's Akisu?"

The thief pointed toward a tree. "Resting. Lots of excitement for an eight-year-old."

Volta shook his head. "Can't believe the kid's only eight. He sounds and acts a lot older."

"You grow up fast on the ocean." Borodo spoke off-handedly, his attention far from Volta. His eyes were locked on Slasher, who noticed and returned the stare.

"Slasher…I need to tell you something."

The big hunter waved his hand. "I already know about the ship."

Borodo's jaw hit the floor. "WHAT?!"

"What the hell?!" Drogon roared. Buki and Kibatto looked equally shocked, but Zoro just shook his head, more bemused then anything. Volta sighed, frustrated with himself. Why hadn't he connected the dots sooner? The bastard had introduced himself as a _thief. _

"I'm very good at reading faces," Slasher explained. "So I knew you were lying about our ship from the beginning. But I didn't say anything because I also detected a lot of desperation in your actions, and a man with your confidence would only be desperate over something he felt he had no power over. And from there…I guess I just wanted to see where things would go."

Drogon rubbed his temples. "What the hell man, ya can't hold out on us like that."

"I didn't want to scare him off," Slasher said. "But I can see right now how sorry you are, Borodo. Thief or not, you really wanted to free this island. And that's a sentiment I can respect."

Borodo smiled. "Well, I'm not a fan of pirates or tyrants, but I'd be lying if I said I did it for the people. This is Akisu's home."

Volta nodded. Made perfect sense to him, a boy with his skills originating from an island like this. But he didn't hear whatever Borodo said next, intent on speaking to Akisu himself. He walked away from the group, stepping over fallen glass and stone around the base of Trump Castle. The bottom layers still retained their crown-like shape, but most of the top had collapsed, their ship stranded on the rubble.

Huh. _Their _ship. Not 'their' as in Slasher's team, but 'their' as in all of theirs. When had he started thinking of that ship as his? He'd been asleep most of his time on it, and he'd only seen its sleek exterior while it was being stolen away from them.

He wondered if Zoro wanted to join up with these guys long-term. Seven heads were better then five, and certainly better then two. But to be part of a team like theirs, one had to integrate with the dominate group mentality, and Volta wasn't sure he could do that. He wasn't a group guy. Not really a partner guy either, but Zoro had endeared himself to him, and likely vice versa.

All of these thoughts were buzzing around his head as he sat under the big tree, right next to Akisu. The boy's eyes were closes, and he breathed softly, but he wasn't asleep. Just tired. Perhaps he should sleep, but Volta had questions first.

"I have a scabbard that may have come from here. The gears and mechanisms are similar to what I've seen on this island. I just put two and two together a few minutes ago."

Akisu opened his eyes and beckoned with his hands. Volta gave him the scabbard.

"It's beautiful," the kid marveled. "Very well-constructed. It looks like someone took the original scabbard and cut off its last three inches. The inside's been hollowed out, but the end grips the sword as it goes in, to prevent shaking. And then someone reinforced it with metal, trying to turn it into a gun barrel. Wait, is this thing a shotgun? That's so cool!"

"It ran out of bullets a long time ago," Volta said. "So I've never used it in combat the way its supposed to. I was wondering if you could make more."

Akisu frowned. "Well, I can try. But it'll take a while. I don't have access to gunpowder, or the kind of metals used for bullet manufacturing."

Volta took the scabbard back. "I'll ask someone else if you're too tired. I don't mean to ask too much of you."

Akisu smiled. "It's fine. I could use some sleep. What about you? Are you tired?"

Volta leaned back, hat hiding his eyes. He sighed, long and deep. "I dunno. Maybe, I have been doing this for a while now."

"Doing what?"

"Traveling, fighting, training, investigating, considering, planning, discovering, befriending, destroying, freeing…just about everything a good bounty hunter is supposed to do, I suppose. For months now. My toes hurt like hell, likely rebroken, and I have a burn on my side, though it's not a bad one. Probably a few bruises too, from the King's punches. Finger's are a bit burned. My lungs feel sticky, even though I _know_ I didn't get any jelly in them. And I'm also just a little sick of my own head, telling me to press on to the next big goal, the next big _mission_. I'm sick of missions. I've been on a mission my whole life, but if I stop moving, I'll probably never move again. And I can't allow that to happen. There's someone I need to kill. He has a desire, a dream I suppose, and if he achieves it then he'll doom us all. I'm standing between him and the world ending. I try not to think about it too much, because of how insanely stressful it is, but that's a mite hard to do when you know that every second you spend not looking for him is a second he's spending getting closer to that dream. To that selfish, stupid dream. I'm just…I'm just…yeah, I'm tired. I'm exhausted, in many ways. And I'm being selfish too, unloading all this on you. I'm sorry about that. You're just a kid, I don't expect you to have a solution to all this."

Akisu didn't respond. Volta didn't expect him too. Maybe the kid was already asleep. He moved his hand up to take off his hat.

Little arms wrapped around his side, the one that wasn't burned. Volta took off his hat and looked down. "What are you doing?"

Akisu looked up. "Do you want a hug?"

…what?

{%}===============(===~.

_Do you want a hug, Damian?_

{%}===============(===~.

"…sure."

Akisu hugged him. Volta patted his head. He really was a good kid. Better then most. Better than he had been…

Borodo found them asleep together, small smiles on their faces. A snot bubble threatened to burst on Volta's coat, so the thief leaned his little brother onto himself instead. It was a really nice spot, big shady tree under their heads, and a view of the whole island laid out before them. An island now free of pirates, and their demands for weapons of war.

He felt himself drift off as well, but before he did, he wondered where Akisu's parents were, and how they felt about their new freedom. He hoped he could meet them soon, him and his little bro…

.~===)==============={%}

Several hours later, the last of the pirates were cleared from the island, stuffed within a fleet's worth of brigs. The elevator made its final trip, bringing up Commodore Nelson's chair. And Nelson himself of course. Hardy had never seen the man off of it.

A full squad of Marines hoisted it into the air, walking it out and setting it down in the center of the room. Hardy saluted, posture stiff, coat flapping.

"Is that the last of them?" Nelson inquired, between bites of an enormous turkey leg.

"Yes sir."

"Eh, excellent! Escort me to the island's new government, we have important matters to discuss."

Hardy felt his left eye twitch, very much involuntarily. It was hardly the first time the Commodore had arrived expecting for more than was possible. "Sir, a new civilian government has not been established."

"Eh? Why not, there's no pirates left." _BURP! _"You just confirmed as much. Why aren't they performing their civic duties?" Nelson's mustache twitched in agitation. "Is it not essential that this island return to its proper place within the Government's expectations, eh, Lieutenant Commander?"

Hardy closed his eyes, taking a deep, quiet breath. "Sir, the populace is exalted over the end of the Trumps' reign, but they need time and energy to restore things to the way they-"

"Eh, it doesn't matter much anyway," Nelson interrupted. He tore into his leg with renewed fervor, stripping it to the bone in seconds. He licked his fingers clean. "Just take me to whoever's in charge already. We have important businessto discuss."

Hardy have a good idea of what the business was going to be about, but he said nothing. "Yes sir. I have set up a meeting place." He saluted once more and led the way.

A larger escort of Marines lay just outside the building, and the procession made its way into the city below.

"They're not gonna meet me in the castle?" Nelson whined. "Classless swine…"

The city was all too happy to see them, a cheer going up from the gathered crowds. Someone had rigged a confetti cannon in a shockingly small amount of time, and it boomed as they marched under it, showering the island's saviors in colorful strips of paper.

"Damn islanders," Nelson growled. "This paper's sticking to my face!"

"It's covered in grease, sir," Hardy reminded.

"And _their _paper is sticking to it!" Nelson huffed. "Are you even listening to me?"

The people were oblivious to the Marine commodore's anger, continuing to cheer for the procession as it neared the center of the city. A group of scientists stood on the steps of one of the larger buildings, a tan cylindrical tower with a swirling pink roof. Two stepped forward, one male and one female, each bearing a tower of their own in the form of improbable curling hairdos. Their faces beamed, but from the looks in their eyes it was clear they'd rather be elsewhere. Hardy sympathized, already wishing to return to his ship.

"Welcome, Commodore Nelson Royale," the female scientist said. "I am Mikisu, and this is my husband, Pokisu."

"Very nice to meet you both!" the commodore boomed. "Now let's get inside. Can't have any prying eyes or wiggling ears, eh?"

The Marine guard acted quickly, forming a ring around the steps. The scientists were caught off-guard, clearly expecting to be part of the meeting, but Nelson's throne barreled forward, driving Mikisu and Pokisu within before they could get a word out. Hardy followed them in. As soon as Nelson's carriers set down his throne they ran out, doors shutting behind them.

It was a lobby built like everything else on this island, twisted but structurally sound. A pleasant enough place to 'set terms', as Nelson liked to call it. Hardy had a different term for it. Emotional extortion.

"The Trumps will be sent to one of our prison facilities, likely in another region," the commodore began. He didn't even try to act professional, scratching his bare stomach and twisting around on his chair. "If they're especially unlucky, they'll be sent to Impel Down for the rest of their lives. And those will be quite long, eh? Or short now, I suppose."

The scientists nodded.

"But before we send off our prisoners, it's essential that they be interrogated first. Need to know if they know about other dangerous pirates, eh? So we can catch them too of course."

Mikisu frowned. "Did they say anything of that sort?"

_Not at all,_ Hardy thought. _Because that's tomorrow's interrogation focus. _

"Not at all," the commodore replied, and here his tone grew solemn. Hardy gritted his teeth. He knew the routine.

"What he _did _mention, quite a bit…was _collaboration_."

The scientists froze, eyes growing wide.

"Now, of course it wasn't collaboration of your own will. A terrible choice was given to you, eh? Make the King Cannon, which this crew's captain spoke of in great detail, or be destroyed. Not very good options, eh?"

The commodore sighed, and his ugly face warped into something approaching sympathy. "But you see, now _I _face a terrible choice. The Marines are very strict about collaboration, by choice or force. There's just no distinction to the Government."

_True enough, _Hardy conceded. _But most Marines have the decency to ignore the latter kind. Not you, you fat bastard. Not you. _

"Do you know what the punishment for collaboration with pirates is?" Nelson continued.

Mikisu was shaking now. "What?"

"Why, whatever the pirates get! Which means _you'd _get sent to Impel Down. Your husband too. All the scientists and builders. Their families as well, except for the children, who will be drafted. More chore boys and chore girls for the Navy, which isn't that bad, eh? But not preferable. They'll never see their parents again."

The commodore leaned in, looming over the now terrified couple. "Do you two have children? Would you like to never see them again?"

"No!" Mikisu cried, tears running down her face. Her husband wasn't far from crying himself, and they both collapsed before the commodore's throne.

Nelson cracked a smirk while their eyes were turned downward. "No? No children, or no seeing them again?"

"Yes! I mean no, please no, anything but that! Please don't take the children of this island! I've heard that the Marines fight with all their strength, including that of their servants! I can't bear the thought of the children of this island dying in battle! Of our child dying in battle!"

_Servants? _Not the word Hardy would have used, but her meaning was clear, as was her distress. He grit his teeth and turned away, unable to look upon their despair any longer. But he heard what the commodore said next.

"No thought spared to your own agony in Impel Down? I've never been there myself, but I've heard its hell on earth. Do all the parents of this island think like you do? If so, I'm impressed. Nothing warms the heart like a loving parent, eh?"

"Please," Pokisu begged. "I know you Marines value your codes and rules, but…but we couldn't resist! They would have killed us all and destroyed this island! Our traditions, our technology, lost forever! Is there any way we can make up for the sins they forced us to commit, any way for you to…to look the other way?"

A moment's silence, for the commodore to pretend to ponder. This was also part of the routine.

"…well. There is one thing I can do."

_The fucking King Cannon, _Hardy growled internally.

"The King Cannon. Is it still in one piece?"

Hardy cursed himself and turned back to the young couple. The looks of horror on their faces was evident of what he knew they must be feeling.

"Consider," Nelson said. "The Bear King wanted you to make a weapon of destruction for him. And you did, which is collaboration. But if _we _take the cannon, then we can use it against pirates like the Bear. We can keep the seas safer. And if the cannon's broken, all the better! Just rebuild it, and now you'll be collaborating with us. A new alliance to wipe away the sins of the old, eh? How does that sound?"

The scientists were clearly horrified by the prospect of their shameful construction unleashed upon the world. But the commodore's wording left little room for negotiation. The choice was clear; suffer further injustice under the Government's system, or redeem the island through surrendering its weapons.

"This is a hard choice to be sure, eh? I'd get into a lot of trouble if this deal was discovered, but I _really _don't want to cause this island any more pain. The people here are wonderful, patriotic even. They made confetti cannons for me and my men! Such a thoughtful gesture…"

Mikisu was silent. Her trembling stopped, and she rose to her feet, helping her husband up. She took a deep breath, perhaps to steady her nerves. Hardy had no doubt what her decision was.

"We'll give you the Cannon. And should it be broken, we'll rebuild it. Thank you for bending your rules for us."

Her husband nodded along, seemingly in agreement. Hardy wondered if he would have agreed the other way too; the man seemed to let his wife do most of the thinking for him.

"Excellent!" Nelson beamed. He clapped his hands, stomach jiggling with the movement. "I assure you, this island will be back on its feet in no time! I'll send in orders for funds to be brought in, so you can repair your castle. Gotta keep that key safe, eh? Say, do you think you can make the King Cannon a ship-mounted artillery piece?"

The couple froze again. Hardy could see the gears turning in their heads, acute minds working out the calculations for how such a thing could be feasible.

"We can. How big is your ship?"

"It's a private yacht I converted into a Marine vessel!" Nelson explained jubilantly. "I'm descended from royalty you know, and I inherited it along with my father's estates. It's a bit on the larger side, but I'm sure you'll have no problem coming up with a suitable emplacement, eh?"

The scientists bowed, and for just a moment, Hardy could have sworn he saw a flash of anger on Pokisu's face. He glanced at Nelson, but the bastard hadn't seemed to notice.

"We will do all we can," Pokisu said. "If this concludes our meeting…"

"Of course!" Nelson cried. He squeezed his left armrest, and a gong sounded within his throne. The doors opened, his carriers sweeping in to resume their back-breaking duties.

"We'll be setting up shop for a few weeks," Nelson stated. "Doing some patrols, making sure there aren't any more pirates scampering about. I'll have the blueprints of my ship in your hands by tomorrow. Good luck, eh?" He clapped his hands, and the throne turned, heading back toward the doors.

_You could give them the prints right now, _Hardy thought. _They're in your chair. But that would imply you'd set this whole thing up from the start, and we can't have them knowing _that.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, turning to follow his commodore.

"It's fine," Mikisu replied, and Hardy paused. "We know that the Navy keeps up safe with their laws. But thank you for placing the lives of this island above them. Thank you for not…for not condemning us." She nearly burst into tears all over again, and Pokisu leaned her head into his chest. His stare was cold, and Hardy knew with certainty he had not been fooled. Not by anything.

"I'm sorry," he said again, and left the lobby, cape flapping behind him. If Hardy turned too fast, it almost sounded like a whip, and in those moments he hated it. It felt especially heavy on his shoulders as he walked back into the fading light. The sunset to his west was magnificent, but he barely noticed it.

"Eheheheheheheh! Another victory for Opportunistic Justice! With that cannon, my fleet will be more powerful than before!"

Hardy wondered if anyone in the crowd heard what he just said. But their renewed cheering must have drowned it out, because they looked as grateful as ever. Nelson laughed, raising his hands in the air, and the cheering grew even louder.

.~===)==============={%}

Volta woke up just in time to catch the last dying embers of the sunset, flicking out as the sun dipped below the horizon. The view was spectacular; he could see small strips of darkness in the last of the light, islands that he would never have glimpsed at sea level. With no more pirates to fight, he could take in the vista without reservation.

As sunlight disappeared, the stars began to emerge. Clouds faded from purple to gray, and then were swept out by a wind that shook the trees. The tallest grasses of the mountain swayed, and the city below lit up in a sea of yellow light. It reminded Volta of Waxtown, that last bastion of British civilization. A pang of…not, homesickness, but wanting struck him. A desire to revisit the ancient burgs of that crumbling city. To see the faces of people whom he had brought hope through his scavenges.

How were they all doing? Ms. Deus, that old stout hag, who's purse snatchers had led to his entry into this world in the first place? Borton, and his bakery, the world's last breads scavenged from shattered farms and ruined grocery stories. The Keepers of the Chorus, Christian singers giving the town music to liven up its grim existence?

"Thinking about something?"

Volta nodded. "Yeah. Thinking of home."

Zoro leaned on the oak, green hair blowing in the wind. It had gotten a bit longer, something the swordsman resented. But at least the last traces of his bald spot where gone. Volta smirked at the memory.

"Home does sound nice," Zoro said. "It's been a long time now. Comparatively."

"You don't talk about your dojo much," Volta noted. "Even though you use it's teachings."

"There's not much to say. Shimotsuki Village is a farming community, specializing in rice. It has an older aesthetic, from the country of Wano. The Isshin Dojo is where I trained. Did I mention that before?"

"…can't remember."

"Well, that's where I trained. Where I learned Santoryu."

The wind picked up, and Zoro fell silent. He didn't want to shout over it. The oak groaned, branches shaking. The wind died down again.

"There were a bunch of other villages on that island. I used to travel around, taking their signs for myself after I beat all their members."

"What did you do with them?"

"Ah, I just tossed them back after a few minutes. Didn't collect them. I just wanted to take them down from where they sat on the roof ledges, as a sign of dominance. Stupid kid stuff, really. But I never took the sign of the ledge of the Isshin Dojo."

"Why's that."

Zoro leaned back a bit more. Almost sagged. "There was someone I couldn't beat. Someone I just could not defeat with my blade."

"Ah."

The wind strengthened again. A much louder groan sounded from the castle, and the two turned around just in time to witness a small avalanche of rubble. The ship on top began to slide.

"Oh shit," Zoro muttered. He dashed forward, blades out. The ship slid even faster, momentum increasing.

"Don't try it Zoro!" Volta screamed, but the swordsman had already placed Wado in his mouth. He took a stance Volta knew all too well.

"DRAGON TWISTER!"

Zoro spun, almost faster than the eye could see, and a tornado formed above his head. It flew through the air, up the many levels of the castle, and collided with the ship, trying to force it back up the building.

It failed. The winds were against the technique, and it had mostly spun itself out as it ascended the castle's many levels. The tornado dissipated, and the ship slid down must faster then before.

Volta felt his heart rate spike, and his ink shot out, ready to grab Zoro and pull him out of the way.

The swordsman had other ideas. For a brief moment he stood still, as the wind whipped at his shirt and tugged at his bandana. In a rush of motion, he chucked his swords in the air and ripped it off his arm, tying it to his head and catching the blades right after. He resumed his stance, and Volta felt a pang of awe. Slasher's ship fell over the edge nose-first, along with a shower of rubble. Over a ton of wood rope and stone, falling a hundred feet straight toward Zoro. He did not falter.

"_TATSUMAKI!"_

Volta blinked. A new technique? No, it was the same tornado move as before, but with a different name. It spun faster, stronger, and it smashed into the ship and the rubble, halting its descent and even sending it flying back up a few feet.

The ink snaked around Zoro and jerked him back, and his technique once again gave way against the wind and the weight. The ship crashed down, its front half splintering. The masts snapped loose from the impact. Volta winced, his ears picking up smaller crashes within. Most likely Slasher's medical supplies. The ink formed a shield, absorbing thousands of splinters before they could skewer the two hunters.

The wind blew more debris into the air, and the two jumped behind the tree, ink flanking their sides.

"There's always something crazy going on," Volta growled. "Damn, Slasher's gonna be _pissed_."

"I tried to save it," Zoro said glumly. "But my techniques…damnit!"

"You can beat yourself up over them later," Volta admonished. "We need to get out of this storm."

They hurried down the mountain, sometimes rolling down it after taking a few too many steps. Volta's hat went flying off his head, but his ink latched on to it and brought it back. The winds only seemed to grow stronger, until Volta feared the entire island could be knocked over.

Fortunately, at the wind's worst he felt no tilt, no great shift in momentum. The ground remained blessedly stable. Eventually the storm passed, though Volta really couldn't call it that. There were no dark clouds, no rumbles or rain. Just wind. Did that count as a storm? No, just a forceful gale.

"If my techniques had been stronger, I would have saved Slasher's ship," Zoro growled. "My Tatsumaki is my strongest attack."

"You've been a bit inconsistent on the naming," Volta noted.

Zoro nodded. A look of clarity touched his eyes, as if he was seeing his swords for the first time. The stars reflected off their polished steel.

"Whenever I came up with an attack name, my sensei would give it a translation, in the language of Wano. He said that names have power, and the older the name, the greater that power. I didn't really understand what he meant at the time, but while seeing my first technique fail, I wondered what would happen if I tried using the older name."

"Don't you say Oni Giri for that rush attack you do?"

Zoro grinned. "The name I came up with was Ogre Cutter. I thought my sensei's name was cooler."

"Is that not your most powerful attack?"

Zoro froze. "It _is_. That makes so much sense."

"YOU IDIOT!"

_CONK!_

"Ow!"

.~===)==============={%}

The sun rose on a free Clockwork, for the first time in seven years. The people rejoiced, and it wasn't long before a full-blown party was underway, the first of many that would be held in the weeks to come.

A Clockwork party is nothing to sneeze at. As with everything else on the island, the citizens put their minds and hands to work, crafting the best food, drink, and party games they could think of. And years of building weapons had given them little room for creativity, for the past seven years. It all came spilling out now, festive and fun ideas, bits of light in a dark time.

Some were stranger than others.

Kibatto wiggled in his restraints, while a scientist placed the last of a dozen small bird toys on his back, connected to his shirt with thin wires.

"Uh, how exactly does this qualify as a party game?"

The scientist chuckled. "It's quite simple. The little wind-up birds jump up on your back, and the kids have to hit them with hammers."

"What?!"

"Rest assured. If they hit you, a little buzzer gives them a static zap, the kind they'd get after rubbing their feet on the rug all day. If they whack the birds, they score a point, and you get zapped instead. It's all good fun."

"Why did I sign up for this again?!"

_WHAM!_

_ZAP!_

"AHH!"

The little child giggled at the little zap. "It doesn't hurt at all!"

"Of course not," the scientist chuckled. "In fact, I designed these shocks so that getting makes your brain work faster for a while."

"That's so cool!" the kids cried, stars shining in their eyes. "Let's just ignore the birds and hit him over and over!"

"AAAHH! BUKI, SAVE ME!"

"Can't!" she called out. "I'm winning at darts!"

"I AM BEING BEATEN TO DEATH OVER HERE!"

She tossed another and scored her fifth bullseye. One of her opponents threw down his darts in disgust, while another took a deep drink from his glass.

"I used these same skills to shoot off the Bear's toes!" she exaggerated. "Who wants to hear the story of how we beat the big bad bear!"

"We do!" The children dropped their hammers and ran over to the hunter, bizarre whack-a-mole game abandoned. Kibatto wiggled so much he flipped over the table he was strapped to.

"No, don't ruin my birds!"

"Fuck your birds! Now get me out of this thing!"

Meanwhile, the dance floor was hoping, and in the middle was Drogon, busting out his best moves. Perfected over the course of many hip weddings, his feet flew across the ground, body twisting and bending, hips thrusting. It was raw, sensual movement, something Drogon wasn't completely aware of.

"Nice dancing," Slasher commented from the sidelines, cheeks flush and eyes unfocused. A dozen bottles stood on the outdoor bar's counter.

"I've been trying…huff…to stop for an hour now," Drogon panted. "But I'm…huff…trapped by all these girls that…huff…keep bumpin into me!"

"Well, maybe you should stop dancing like a rake. Uh, no, a snake. Yeah, that's it."

Slasher reached for another bottle. He paused.

"…MY POOR SHIP!" He collapsed onto the bar, tears washing away some nearby beer stains.

Zoro had _two_ dozen bottles before him, and only three of them were full. "Free booze is the best booze," he sighed. "I'm sorry about your ship Slasher. But I'm sure with thirty-eight million berries, buying a new one will be a snap. All's well that ends will, right?"

"…WAAAAAAAH!"

"HAHAHAHAHA!" Drogon laughed so hard he tripped on his own feet, collapsing in a trio of swooning ladies.

"I'm gonna kill Borodo," Slasher muttered. "But it's not really his fault. I'll kill the wind. It's the fuckin wind's fault."

Zoro drained his lost bottle. "I am sorry about your ship. You don't need to give us all of our shares if you need it."

"We don't," Slasher slurred. "Tis fine. Let's see, it's about…five million four hundred thousand for you, five million, four thousand hundred for Volta. And the rest for us. We get…just a bit extra, if that's fine with you."

"It's all good," Zoro said hastily. "Say, are you alright? You don't look like you can hold your drink."

"Just trying to turn back the clock, go back to when ship and I first met."

Zoro nodded. "That makes sense. By the way, what's your ship's name?"

Slasher considered this question carefully, stroking the faint stubble on his chin. Then he vomited all over the bar.

"Alright, I see you're busy. I'll ask later." Zoro gathered up his bottles and dumped them into a nearby recycling bin. He didn't see many of those. He wondered what they'd get made into. Hopefully bottles for better booze, if they were lucky.

"Zoro!" Borodo and Akisu ran over, each carrying a mug. The latter's was, much to Zoro's disappointment, filled with orange juice.

He shook his head. "I expect better from you kid."

Akisu smiled. "Sure thing Zoro!"

"You gotta start young, build up your tolerance."

"Wait, what?"

"_Anyway!" _Borodo cried. "I was wondering where Volta was. Akisu things he can help him find the guy who built the shotgun scabbard."

"Someone from here built that?" Zoro marveled. "Huh, that makes sense. He's busy interrogating the Trumps down below with some Marine officers."

Borodo shook his head. "Does that guy ever take a break?"

Zoro grinned. "Not really. He's always doing something that helps us in the future."

"He should learn to enjoy the present more!" Borodo said. He raised his mug. "This party's really swinging into high-gear!"

And so they partied, and feasted, and enjoyed the strange, somewhat revenge-fantasyish games. Confetti cannons galore, streamers, balloons, blaring music, and rumors of fireworks. Seven years of pent-up stress released in one blast of joy. Even some of the Marines got in on the action, dancing with the islanders.

The party was so loud Volta could hear it from the deck of Nelson's flagship, even though the island was thousands of feet above him. He went below deck, the sound thankfully reduced to nothing as he made his way down to the interrogation room. Repulsive the commodore may be, he'd done a good job of converting his yacht to meet the proper Marine standards. The room was large, more then capable of holding a crouching Bear King, and the walls were covered in acoustic boards, soundproofing it.

Nelson himself sat on the end of a giant table, stuffing himself, with chocolate muffins. Volta exerted his power, an ink tendril latching on to one and bringing to him. He worfed it down without a moment's hesitation.

_GULP _"Hey!"

"You said you wanted my help," Volta smirked.

"I don't _need _you," Nelson huffed. "Don't presume yourself above your station, eh? Where's the Lieutenant Commander?"

As if on cue, Hardy entered, looking a bit disheveled. He held a bunch of files, which he tossed onto the table. Nelson couldn't reach them, so he clapped his hands, and one of his carriers brought it to him. He pawed it awkwardly, chocolate getting all over the edges. Volta rubbed his temple.

"Thus begins the second round of interrogations. Let me review some things, Thomtwittle Bert, known more widely as the Bear King. Your age is twenty-four. A pirate since you were fourteen, eh? Wouldn't that make your youngest brother six?"

"Boo Jack's always been able to handle himself," the Bear muttered. He had been stripped of all finery, his furs and silks replaced with a prisoner's uniform. It fit poorly, and Volta wondered if the ship had a sewing room.

"Tough from a young age, eh? Indubitably, I'm impressed with your longevity, and the notoriety you gained in your first three years alone. Veeery impressive stuff."

"I have some questions for you, commodore," Volta interrupted. "These bounty posters look recent. And yet the Trump's were out of sight for apparently seven years. Do you know why that is?"

"Freelance photographers," Nelson replied. He chomped down on another muffin, swallowing it like a pelican. "I hired a team of photographers to scale the tower and infiltrate Trump Castle."

The Bear scowled. "So that explains it. I had a dozen men executed for those photos getting out. I wasted my bullets."

The headache was getting worse. "You mean to say that there are freelance _photographers_ that can infiltrate a pirate-controlled country, but the _military _cannot?"

"It's called the Navy," Nelson corrected. "And why train soldiers for an operation they'll only perform once? If they had been discovered, this big lug would have destroyed the island."

"Do you really believe he'd bring the whole island down, when himself and his siblings are on it?"

To the shock of both of them, the Bear nodded his head. "This brat's got the right of it. I wasn't _really _gonna destroy the island."

Nelson's jaw hit the table. "What? So all the rumors, uh I mean, intel I heard about you being mad was incorrect?!"

Hardy put his head in his hands.

"Don't call me brat," Volta growled. "You're only six yours older than me."

The King grinned, but it was a hollow expression. "There's no reason for me to hide anything anymore. My dreams are ashes, my army smashed." He slumped forward, eyes vacant. "I don't even know where my siblings are."

"They're being held in this ship," Hardy informed. "On a higher level."

"Lieutenant Commander!" Nelson roared. He slammed his fist into the table. "Do not inform prisoners of anything that could give them any sense of relief or hope! Nothing of the sort awaits them where they're going, eh?"

Volta leaned against the wall, arms folded and head down.

Nelson horked down another muffin. "Yesterday we talked about your relationship with the island. Now I want to ask a few questions about your relationships with other pirates."

The Bear shrugged. "Nothing to say. If I see 'em, I beat them. My fleet took care of anything that got too close."

"It's interesting you say that," Nelson continued. "Because from the records we collected from your castle, it seems like you've been in contact with some interesting figures."

The Bear froze, eyes widening. "That's not possible," he growled. "I keep my business in my room, near the top. And it got destroyed with my throne room."

"It _was_," Nelson agreed. "But I have a crack team that specializes in reconstructing destroyed records. They've been working through the night, piecing together all your dealings over the past seven years. Quite the feat, eh?"

Forget frozen, the Bear looked over the verge of a panic attack. He gulped, eyes bulging. Was he choking on something?

"Damn you!" he shouted. "Don't think you'll get anything out of me about the Organization!"

Volta jumped up. "What did you just say?"

"The Organization!" the Bear repeated. "I'm not saying anything about it!"

"There's no reason to be so tight-lipped," Nelson cooed. "Your siblings already chocked up everything they know. There's no point in hiding anything."

At the mention of his siblings, all the fight went out of the Bear. He leaned back, chains rattling. He closed his eyes. "Damn it…if you hurt them-"

"Interrogation is _not_ a torture session," Nelson reassured.

Hardy grimaced.

"All we did was let them know just how much trouble they'd be in if they remained silent on the issue. Trouble that you're now in Bert. May I call you Bert?"

"_No."_

"You see Bert, by revealing information on other pirate groups, you ensure we stay one step ahead of them, and this allows us to more easily catch them. If you help us out, I could arrange for a more comfortable transfer for you. Not all pirates end up in Impel Down. Some of the weaker, less successful ones are left in facilities in the East Blue."

"I don't care!" the Bear bellowed. "I'd rather face Hell itself then give you anything! You have no idea how terrifying the Organization is. I will not betray it!"

Nelson grinned. "Even if I promise to transfer your _siblings _somewhere more comfortable, eh?"

Volta was amazed at how pale the Bear was getting. How was his brain working without any blood?

"Damn you! Damn you!"

"Saying that over and over again is not going to do a thing to help you," Nelson said. "Rather, why don't you let go of your silly notions of pirate pride and tell us what we need to know. My team will have it all done by tomorrow, so it doesn't matter to _me_ if you tell me or not. But it matters to _you_, because it's the difference between a transfer to a prison here, or the big prison _there. _Do you understand my meaning?"

Volta wasn't doing nearly as much interrogating as he had hoped. But he may not need to at this point. The Bear was close to cracking. He could practically see the wheels turning, the scale tipping in the direction Nelson wanted. Volta was reminded of Rokka, the locker manager from Retasu. A bit of a gross fellow, but far keener than appearances suggested.

"…fine. I'll tell you everything. But only if you promise to transfer us. _And _protect us from the Organization."

Nelson's mustache twitched, but he was all smiles. "It's not Marine policy to make deals with prisoners, but I'll see what I can do. Now, what is it about this Organization that's got you so rattled."

"They're obscure," Bear explained. "But their reach gets farther every month. They've got a lame name for pragmatic reasons, keeping themselves on the down-low."

"The Organization is just the sort of name to invite all manner of speculation," Volta said. "They should have called themselves the group, or the people. The sort of thing you'd say in an everyday conversation."

"I don't give two shits what they're called," Bear growled. "The important thing is that they've hidden themselves well. But they often make contracts with killers for hire, even pirate groups. They reached out to me with a deal. I'd have the islanders make weapons for them, and in exchange they'd give me ships and manpower."

"What kind of weapons did you make?" Hardy inquired.

"Most of it was standard stuff, like rifles and bullets and cutlasses. But we got a few special orders too. Fancy guns. Bombs too, and sharp bullets, the kind that pierce. A heavy set of armor. But the biggest order was some sort of gas bomb."

"A chemical weapon?" Nelson quirked an eyebrow. "Those are illegal. Quite a dirty business to deal in, eh?"

"I forget the exact name," Bear continued. "M5 something. It's nasty stuff. That was the closest the island ever came to revolt, but with the key I kept them in line."

"For a while, I had you pegged as a possible leader of the Organization," Volta said. "Zoro and I already encountered members of it a few months ago."

"I'm just a business partner," the Bear clarified. "I really don't know much more then that. The reason I'm _concerned _about them coming after me, not _scared, _is because they have the tendency to mutilate the bodies of those that cross them. They sent me and my siblings one, as a warning of what would happen if we failed." He shivered, clearly spooked despite his protests. "It was a horrid sight. And it made me wonder if there were some guys on their side that were really strong. With my Fruit, I don't fear physical damage, but my siblings are vulnerable. Three of them anyway."

"You're all vulnerable against Seastone," Volta reminded with a grin. He tapped the end of his hat.

"Bastard," Bear growled. "You never would have beaten me without that pin."

"In any case," Volta deflected. "I know about the Organization too. There's a Don, who's in charge, a Combat Commander, three Gems, and an Idea Man. Know anything about that?"

"This is everything I can give you," the Bear said. "In exchange for a transfer to a better prison and protection against the Organization's wrath, for me _and _my siblings. I wouldn't leave anything out with that on the line."

Volta stared, more than a little shocked. "You really care."

"Of course I care!" the Bear shouted. "They may be four of the biggest pains in my ass, but they're my family, damnit! I may be a pirate, but I've got my own to look after, just like you and your little hunter team."

"They're not my team." Volta corrected. "I'm surprised you have this much character for a pirate, but don't think that excuses all the pain you put this island through."

The Bear King snorted. "I could care less about the island anymore. Just make sure you honor our deal, Marine."

"Eheheh! A deal is a deal." Nelson concluded the interrogation with the cleaning of his plate, and his retinue leapt to attention, carrying his throne out of the room. The sudden influx of voice hurt Volta's ears, and he closes the large doors, soundproofing the room once more.

"Pathetic tub of lard," the Bear spat. "Using my real name like that. I'm the Bear King now."

"It's protocol," Hardy said. "Thought I have to admit…Thomtwittle _Bert_?"

"My parents hated me!"

"What are the rest of the names like?"

"You don't wanna know."

Volta took his leave, the sounds of hustle and bustle filling the corridor as he stepped into it. Time to get back to shore, and to _the _team. He'd already started thinking of their ship as his, though that wasn't a problem anymore. Honestly, it was about time for Zoro and him to part ways with the bounty hunters. While having them on the mission would be nice, Volta wanted to tear apart the Organization with as little help as possible. He needed to be stronger. Much stronger, if he wanted to confront the 'hero' and win.

He ascended the deck just in time to witness something that stopped him in his tracks. A large metal frame was being moved onto the ship, which had been docked near the cave entrance. Soldiers were sawing away at the floorboards in the center of the deck, and the sound of banging hammers could be heard in the space below.

"Eh, what do you think?"

Volta jumped, turning around to see Nelson right behind him. The dude couldn't move, how had he snuck up on him? Or rather, how had the Marines carrying his chair snuck up on him?

"I'm not sure what I'm looking at," Volta said. The sight of it left him feeling uneasy.

"Just preparing for some modifications," Nelson chirped. He seemed to be in an especially good mood, cheeks flush and smile wide.

Volta began to walk away, but Nelson's carriers were fast, and they caught up with him. "You don't seem particularly respectful of Marine authority," Nelson spat. "You do know you're only getting paid because it's the law to do so, right? I've never liked bounty hunters. Nothing but no-good vermin, similar to the pirates you hunt. Always chasing after the same prizes of gold and cash. Pretty apt comparison, eh?"

"Then why did you ask for a hunter to sit in on the interrogation?" Volta replied.

Nelson's sneer curled into a smile. "Despite what I said back there, and what I'm saying now, I think you're a bit different. Insubordinate, uppity, but not unforgivably so. You've got a soldier's air about you, eh? And a nasty look in your eye I enjoy watching."

A chill crawled up Volta's spine. "What are you saying?"

The commodore clapped, and his carriers moved closer to Volta. Nelson leaned in, until he could smell his rancid breath.

"You strike me as a man who kills easily," Nelson rasped. "There are some Marines I hear are corrupt, willing to abuse their power for frivolous things. I wouldn't mind if you got rid of them, for a small fee."

Volta narrowed his eyes, and this time it was Nelson who felt the chill. "You're asking for my service…as an assassin?"

"As a servant of justice," Nelson simpered. "A man willing to enact holy cleanings, on the word of someone who _truly _cares for the commoner. I'm a rich man, Volta. I used to live comfortably, but my desire to help the people outweighed my own desires. I take great pride in the sigil on my stomach, the coat upon my back."

Volta looked over Nelson's shoulder, to the crumpled cloth and tangled epaulets crushed against the back of his throne.

"But I can't easily remove the evils of the system when I'm in that system myself. That's why when an opportunity like you comes along, I need to take advantage of it, eh? Opportunistic Justice; that's my personal code, the one I follow over all others. Do you understand, eh?"

"What I understand," Volta began, words _dripping_ with distain. "Is that you look quite comfortable right now, even with your coat. I don't know what maneuvering you're trying to pull, but I have no desire to be a part of it. Find another two-bit hunter for your errands."

Volta stormed off, the remains of his coat flapping in the wind. A gale had entered the tunnel, and Nelson shivered as much from the cold as he did from sheer rage. His face, already a ruddy red from all the talking, deepened into a muddled purple.

"YOU THINK YOU CAN TALK DOWN TO ME?!" Nelson roared. "YOU HAVE GUTS, BUT I AM AN OFFICER OF THE WORLD'S GREATEST POWER!"

"I respect the power," Volta called back. "But I don't have to respect all those within it. If I did, I wouldn't be standing here right now."

Nelson growled, another clap of his hands spiriting the throne away. Volta watched him retreat back into the bowels of his ship.

"I've never heard anyone talk back to him before."

Volta sighed, head rotating around to take in an approaching Hardy. "What do you want Commander?"

"Lieutenant Commander. And not much, just a little chat."

"Marines so far have proven dismal conversationalists."

Hardy cracked a smile, the first Volta had seen. "Then it is up to me to break the trend." He leaned on the railing, breeze blowing his mustache forward. He pulled an apple from his coat and tossed it to Volta.

He wrinkled his nose. "Unsanitary."

"I keep my coat clean. Cleaner than he does."

Volta shrugged. "Can't argue that." He took a bite, and shuddered at the crispness, sweet juices running down his chin.

Hardy grinned again. "I know a few apple farmers in the Mero Region. Their product keeps for a very long time."

Volta took another, bigger bite, head tiling back in ecstasy. How many years had it been since he'd eaten a fresh apple? Hell, how many years since _anything _this good? He shuddered, the weight of his wasted opportunities bearing down on him. Weeks of fried rice and milk, potatoes and carrots. Cozia was not an island suited for agriculture, not the part he'd stayed at anyway. He's barely eaten anything during his lunch in Goa. A deep sense of hollowness struck him, the apple awakening a hunger he hadn't felt since before his arrival.

Hardy blurred, and his eyes felt wet. _Tears_? Over a fucking _apple?_

The blurry Lieutenant Commander took a handkerchief out of his coat pocket and held it out. "I can assure you you're not the first to cry. Got to my wife too."

"Wife?" Volta dabbed his eyes, trying to suppress his fury at his own displayed weakness.

"Yeah. Crazy, huh? The Government discourages marriages, unless you're one of the lucky bastards who gets to work at HQ. Then they're all for it."

"Strange," Volta muttered. He blinked, and the world clarified. "Every time I interact with you guys, I see a different face of this power I keep hearing about."

Hardy cringed. "I'm sorry about the commodore. He means well."

Volta snorted. "Don't lie to me. And don't lie to yourself."

The Marine bristled. "I'm not. There's a spark of something in there. Deep, but there."

The hunter took another bite. He swallowed, reveling in the feeling of his stomach filling. "Still lying. You've told so many lies that you've come to believe them as truth. I'm sorry it's come to that."

Hardy glared at him. His lean grew rigid, until it looked like he could snap to attention any second. "That's enough, hunter. We can't talk about our superiors in this manner."

"_Your_ superior," Volta corrected. He took another bite, another swallow. "Not mine. Did you not hear the bribe he attempted? The _assassinations _he tried to order? On his _comrades_?"

"It's…it's not right. But Nelson has gotten rid of known corrupt elements before."

Volta scowled. "If a shark eats a shark, does the child in the water celebrate? When an army destroys another army, does it leave behind the spoils, to rot and wither on the battlefield? If a man burns another man's home, does he not destroy that man's family as well? Greed, envy, ambition; it does nothing for the world for it to go up against itself. You're superior has been abusing his position, in ways so blatant I'm amazed he hasn't been discharged already."

Hardy stared at the deck, hat shrouding his eyes. He clenched his teeth, hands formed into fists. "What the hell do you want me to do?" he whispered, head jerking from side to side. "Turn him in? He's the highest authority for the next three regions over, maybe for the whole damn East. No Real Admirals operate here, and even if one did, I'm _still _fucked, because they'll look at his perfect record, laugh off the charges, and then book _me _with insubordination. No one really cares if a few half-wit captains disappear, each with only a few crews to their names. Nelson's bagged _sixty-seven_."

Their conversation lulled, as a squad of Marines marched past. Volta stared through them, at Hardy's haggard face. The man looked older, more tired. As if a weight lay upon him, heavier with every reason listed for his inaction.

"There's something different about you."

Hardy looked up, perplexed. "Different how?"

Volta pointed. "It's the coat. You're wearing it properly, arms in your sleeves. All the officers I've seen so far wear them like capes, even Nelson."

Hardy shrugged, gaze returning to his shoes. "Might fall off that way."

The talk was drying up, Volta realized. Time for him return. He had a new mission, one he had given himself. One of discovery.

"Hey."

Volta stopped, but did not turn back. "What?"

"Why don't you wear your coat as a cape?"

He looked down at it. Halved by the Bear King's attacks, stained with blood and mud, more a rag then a coat now. Hardy clearly spoke of the past, of the clothing's prime.

Volta shrugged. "It doesn't have sleeves."

He moved forward, his steps steady despite the pain that still wracked him. He'd barely felt it, these past few hours. A wonderful skill to have, shutting out the pain.

Ah.

"Hardy, if you feel pain over the actions of your superior, remove yourself from it. Don't be embroiled in your emotions. Act. Do what you think is right. That's all you can do."

With this final proclamation, he descended the gangplank, making his way over the blood that still stained the cave's floor. A few Marines half-heartedly mopped up some of it.

Hardy watched him head to the elevator, ruminating on his words. "Remove yourself from your pain?" He chuckled, a bitter sound. "Idiot. Don't you know that that's the worst thing you can do? How's a man supposed to act without feeling anything?"

"Lieutenant Commander!" A young medic ran up. "It's Kubomi, sir!"

_That _snapped him out of his funk. "What's his condition, soldier?!"

"He's awake!" The medic had tears in his eyes. "And he's starting to remember! He's gonna be alright sir! He's gonna be alright!"


	18. The Old Craftsman

**Chapter 18 – The Old Craftsman**

Volta left his coat at the tailor's shop. No payment was required; freeing the island was payment enough, the old lady said. That suited Volta just fine.

Akisu had gone above and beyond, giving Volta an address the moment the two met up in the town square. The party was in full swing, but he barely noticed. The sword in his hand felt heavy as he walked around the mountain, moving out of the festivities and into the relative quiet of the countryside. He could still hear the music though, and he wondered why the citizenry wasn't half-deaf already.

More hills rose out of the base of the mountain on its other side. A smaller village sat out of sight of the dirt paths, nestled in a dip between the hills. One hill had a single house on it, an older structure. A rundown shack more than anything. It was here that Volta would know the truth behind his sword, and the gun buried in its scabbard. He felt excited but wary. Already the back of his neck prickled, an ominous sign for what was to come.

As he got closer to the house, the feeling increased, in a way he couldn't articulate. Not even in his mind. Trudging up the hill, sword in hand, it felt like he was approaching the gates of some unspeakable underworld. The sky dark_ened, and the grass died. Everything withered away, became smoke, and in the smoke, danced silver. Silver blades, silver fire, flowing freely, without restraint. An unspeakable power lay within that silver. _

"Gah!"

Volta collapsed, sweat pouring off of him. His eyes rolled back into his head, but with a grunt of effort, he forced them forward again. The darkness faded, and he got back to his feet. The silver fire still danced, even as the sky returned to its normal bright blue. And then the flames flickered out, reality reasserting itself.

…what the _hell _had just happened? The suddenness of the vision horrified Volta, shaking him in a way he hadn't felt since his dream. Which hadn't been that long ago, but still! Was he having a heat stroke? A mental breakdown? No, this was deeper, stronger. A feeling of overwhelming power, a force trying to wrestle his very spirit to the ground.

"Beruhige dich," he muttered. "Calm yourself. Calm yourself."

"Interesting."

Volta glanced up. A bit higher on the hill stood an old man. A bushy white beard flowed down to his knees, and much of its length had been shaped into weapons. Swords and spears, axes and guns, all sculpted from his impressive facial hair. It reminded Volta of the woman-shaped sideburns Walkaway had sported, dyed blonde to distinguish them from his natural brown.

Beyond that, the man was short and stout, his face shrouded in a brown hood. The hood widened out into a robe, covering all but the impressive facial hair he sported. He wore a big black tool belt, implements strapped all over. Most disconcerting of all, he cast a shadow across the ground, one that Volta found himself enveloped in. Volta glanced behind him. The sun was to his back. How could this be?

"W-who are you?"

The man smiled. At least, Volta thought he did. There was too much beard to be sure. "Nobody. Just an ole craftsman. You can call me Zwergherr like the folk do." He waved a hand toward the village.

"…_Zwergherr?_"

The man cocked a bushy eyebrow. "You did not have that accent before."

"Zat name iz von I recognizce."

The man rose his eyebrow even higher. "Können Sie verstehen, was ich gerade sage?"

"Perfekt."

The old man smiled again. Maybe. "It's been so long since I've used my native tongue. So long I feel more comfortable with English now, if you don't mind."

"Not at all."

Zwergherr led the way into his home, another great example of how looks could be deceiving. The shack-like exterior concealed a well-built living room, connected to a kitchen that was only a few degrees away from being state-of-the-art. The floor was polished oak, save for a large tile of stone in the center, upon which was etched a crude anvil.

The walls stood tall, a blend of metal and wood and earth, the furniture matching the style. Volta did not doubt that everything had been made by hand, from the goatskin rug sprawled across the floor, to the elaborate knives and pans that hung from the kitchen walls. A great firebrick oven dominated a quarter of the house. To Volta's astonishment, there was a second floor, or rather a large mezzanine that served as a small but comfortable bedroom. He ran back outside. Impossible! The building was too low!

Except, it wasn't. He had been walking downward without even realizing it, the house half-buried into the hill it stood on. The TARDIS-like illusion was just skillful architecture, the slope unnoticeable when one was faced with the interior's rustic beauty.

But one thing caught his eye above all else. A great axe, gleaming above the living room's large fireplace. It was the two-handed sort, double-sided. The blades were broad but not cartoonish, and they looked sharp enough to slice through a bone like butter. The handle was a swirling blend of gold and copper-colored wood, and its pommel had been dipped in a liquid Volta couldn't identify.

Wait, he _could _identify it. Polished to a dull glow, the pommel was the same green-gray color of his Seastone pin. A tip capable of blunting the power of Devil Fruit users.

Never had Volta laid eyes upon a weapon of such beauty. It was a war axe of the highest caliber, a weapon worthy of the man named_ Dwarf Lord._

"Admiring it?"

Volta nodded. "Yes."

Zwergherr moved through the armchairs and the coffee table. He pressed a stone on the fireplace and the logs within burst to life. He lifted the axe off its hooks, moving it so that the light from the windows caught the edges. It looked almost futuristic from the right angle, energy shimmering around it. Like an axe wrapped in a lightsaber's cutting power.

"It's gotten me through some hard times," Zwergherr ruminated. "And more than a few tough spots."

"I can imagine," Volta breathed. "What the hell were you fighting?"

The man sighed. Much and many, once upon a time. Mostly trees. That's what an axe is for after all."

Volta didn't believe that for a second, but if there ever was a time to not question things, it was when someone had a giant axe in their hands. And he was well within cutting distance.

"Zwowowowowo! You're so guarded! I'm not going to hit you with this!"

All of his instincts, every last _fiber _of Volta's being, screamed at him to run, to put as much distance between himself and this man as possible. How had he known? He hadn't even been looking at him! Or had he? He couldn't tell with that hood covering the old man's eyes.

"Don't worry laddie, I ain't gonna do nuthin to ya."

His voice had changed. Now he sounded almost Irish. That only many Volta more guarded.

"You're here for the bullets, yes?"

_Of course_ he knew about that too. That was the last straw. He headed for the door.

"You can have them."

He paused, hand on the doorknob.

"I must have scared ya badly. I'm sorry bout that, sometimes I can be a wee much for folks. I don't go to town often, for that reason."

This was ridiculous. He couldn't be scared off this easily. He needed those bullets. He needed every advantage he could get his hands on.

"You've given me a bit of a fright as well," Volta admitted. "But I'm being rude. How did you know I wanted the bullets?"

"The gun." Zwergherr pointed at the scabbard. "I know me work, sonny. With me own two hands I built it up, and tore it down, and built it up again."

"Your accent keeps changing."

"Zwowowowowo! I've got nuthin ta say ta that! Come now, lemme hava looksie."

Volta stepped closer, unsheathing his sword and handing off the scabbard. Zwergherr reached out, hand callused and wrinkled. But his grip was strong, and Volta swore he could feel it through the scabbard's shaft. Like the aftershock of a small earthquake, miniaturized and lessened into a simple exchange of objects.

The man looked over his former work, his unseen eyes taking in every detail, every imperfection. He shrugged. "Trash."

Without another word, he tossed it into the fireplace.

"No!" Volta leaped for it, but the old man held him back, his grip a vise.

"No _good_, laddie," he growled. "I know my work. I know my craft. If I say it's trash, it's trash."

He leaned over and pressed another stone, and the fire turned blue, burning with such intensity Volta began to sweat. He watched as his scabbard melted and crackled, the wooden parts igniting and the metallic gears steaming. It was gone in minutes, the fire burning itself out not long after. Volta watched as the last flickers vanished. Like the fires in his vision.

"Zwowowowowo! Alright, let's build a new one! Come Seelenhäcker!"

Volta leaped again, and this time Zwergherr let him go. He needed both hands for his axe, with he raised above his head. Feet shifted until the trajectory was that of the floor's center, where the anvil sigil lay. He brought the axe down.

_**GMMMMMMMM**_

There were no bells around, but Volta's ears rang all the same. The axe vibrated as it bit into the stone, and little tremors filled the house. The knives and pans rattled. The bricks shook. The goat's head seemed to shiver.

.~===)==============={%}

The booze in Zoro's mug vibrated. He felt a tremor run through his body, a vibration down to his core.

"The hell?"

Slasher frowned. "I felt it too. Is the key stable?"

"Our best demolition men cleared all the rubble," a nearby scientist explained. "The key's working just as well as ever!"

Zoro frowned. "Good to know." He didn't think it had been the island that had shaken him. He turned his eyes to the mountain, and what lay above it.

Or perhaps, beyond.

.~===)==============={%}

The tile slid away, revealing rectangular indents hued out of the rock, trailing down to form a ladder. A ladder that led into darkness.

Zwergherr didn't even use them. With a yelp of excitement, he jumped down the shaft.

"FOLLOW MEEEeeeeeee…"

Volta pinched himself. Surely, he must be dreaming. But alas, it was not to be. Not like he feared the dark anyway. He climbed down using the ladder, whose edges had been roughened for solid gripping. He wondered if Zwergherr ever used them, or if they had been added for guests like himself.

He only made it halfway before getting annoyed and jumping the rest of the way down. He landed softly, feet hitting solid stone. _Much _more solid then what he had been standing on above.

"BOO!"

Volta couldn't see a thing, but he gave his best deadpan in the direction of the voice. "Nope."

"Ah phooey! In any case, welcome ta me forge laddie!"

The darkness lifted, one torch at a time. Lanterns flickered on. And a roaring fire blasted to life in the wall behind him. All the light made Volta wince, but once his eyes adjusted…

No, he was dreaming. A place this cool couldn't exist. It just _couldn't. _

Upstairs…upstairs had been _nothing._ The forge was a vast cavern, one that likely filled the whole hill. Solid stone encased them, and the fires and torches cast everything in a light red glow. A little natural light shone from the opening above, but a tap from Zwergherr's axe closed it again.

The large craftsman jumped upon the forge's central anvil, a massive block covered in countless scars. A few more anvils flanked it, smaller blocks for smaller projects, and between them plenty of tables and workbenches, many littered with half-finished works of steel and silver. Great fires roared along the sides with a clap of Zwergherr's hands, and a deep rumbling reverberated throughout the cavern. It born many similarities to the unholy work of Dareda, but there was a sense of mastery in the construction of everything, while that killer's creations had been cobbled together out of the man's diseased mind. There just wasn't any comparison.

But the greatest feast for the eyes was the walls. Solid, smooth stone, upon which hung _thousands_ of weapons.

Katanas and falchions, broadswords and broadaxes, halberds and partisans, maces and morningstars. Double, triple, quadruple-barreled blasters, bazookas and gatlings, rifles galore, and enough pistols to slay an army one shot at a time. A sea of shields encircled the arsenal, of all shapes and sizes, each bearing a different symbol. Many were Jolly Rogers, but a good number had the Marine gull on it, or something more becoming of a knight on a holy quest, like a dragon or a grail.

A few especially long ones bore a sigil Volta didn't recognize. A bloodred face on a golden field, red beams shooting off in all directions. Pitch black eyes lined with white brows and a nose and mouth that looked less like a grin and more like a smokestack. Golden circles trailed down like tears and another lay upon its forehead. Stark, simplistic, but menacing in its own way. Which faction did that one belong to?

Once Volta had taken in enough of the walls, he turned his gaze to the ceiling, and bore witness to monstrosities he couldn't see _anyone _wielding. A flail took up the entire length of the right side, held up by thick chains made from the solidest of steels. Alongside it hung three broadswords and an axe, all far too large for human hands. They didn't compare to the beauty of Seelenhäcker, but the light of the fire gave then an air of majesty. Weapons fit for titanic gods of war. Why on earth had he made these? Only a giant could use weapons this big!

"ZWOWOWOWOWOWOWOWOWOWO!"

Volta turned around. "What are you laughing at?"

"Nooothing…"

Zwergherr had tossed aside his robe and tucked his beard into his belt. Smart move, it surely made one hell of a safety hazard. His head was bald, scars running down his brow and twisting around his nose, which had been broken so many times it had shriveled and hardened, like a skin-colored prune. His eyes shone a sharp silver, a cold contrast to the red flames that flared around him.

"Laddie, I suggest you step back. I'm gonna release the rain."

Volta did as instructed, and Zwergherr pulled a lever on the wall. A deep rumbling began to sound throughout the cavern. The hunter gasped as red liquid began to bubble out of small openings around the room, pouring down into crevices that lined the floor. The temperature rose even higher than it had before, until sweat was dripping off of Volta. Zwergherr looked no worse for wear, and quickly set about clearing one of his anvils, getting ready for his new project. The lava poured with ever increasing speed, the crevices coming dangerously close to overflowing. Just before they could, the openings closed off. Hundreds of feet of floor were glowed with crisscrossing lines of lava, bathing the anvils and tables in an orange tinge. Volta felt dizzy, and he leaned against another anvil.

"Take this laddie!"

A water bottle sailed his way, and Volta caught it with a grateful grunt. He took a swing, nearly chocking on the ice cold chill of the beverage. He felt much better in minutes.

"Special water for the guests. Can't take the heat, most of 'em."

"You seem to have a lot of guests down here."

"I like showing off me stuff! Zwowowowowo!"

Volta walked toward him, careful not to step on the now very hot cracks. "Aren't you worried that you're revealing too much to people? What if they try to steal something, or come back to rob you while you're asleep?"

Zwergherr chuckled, a low, amused sound. That was all the answer Volta would get, he realized. And it was all the answer he needed.

"Ya know, puttin a gun in a scabbard, not an easy thing ta do, even for me. But I wanted ta see if I could top meself, even after all these years! And with a Meito blade to boot!"

Volta sat on an empty table, taking another swig from his bottle. "My friend doesn't like the gun. Doesn't like the idea of using anything else with one's swords."

"Swordsmen will be swordsmen," Zwergherr said. "Good lads they be, but I'm no swordsman meself. Got no notion of that sorta honor. I'm justa humble craftsman. And any craftsman worth their salt experiments."

He unrolled a piece of paper on the anvil and pulled a feather pen from his tool belt. "Ah, Blitzeinschlag. A fine blade. Course, _I _coulda made it a wee bit better, but who am I ta say! Many good craftsmen in the Homeland."

Homeland. _Homeland_.

"Austria…"

Zwergherr looked up, a frown on his face. Maybe. A frown that maybe became a look of surprise, then probably confusion. "Austria? You speak of a homeland of yer own, laddie?"

Volta nodded. "Yes."

"But…the accent. You are from _the _Homeland, aren't ya?"

Volta shook his head. "No. I'm afraid not."

Zwergherr set down his pen. He walked over to Volta, placing his huge hands on his shoulders. "I'm sorry laddie. I really am."

Volta flinched. "There's nothing to be sorry over."

"No. Don't bury it. Don't hide from it. Yer pain, I can feel it, laddie. Since you got here, I've felt yer pain. Tis a horrible thing, a wail deep in yer soul."

Volta scowled, shrugging off the hands. "I'm not sure how you're able to read my thoughts, but I don't need some impromptu therapy session."

"That's good," Zwergherr agreed. "I'm no therapist. Just a craftsman. A good one, but not much more than that."

A lava bubble popped, spraying little droplets everywhere. Volta jumped back, but one hit his pants, burning through it easily. Zwergherr walked forward, and as Volta braced for the pain, the craftsman reached out and pinched the droplet, tearing it and the burned bit of pants away before it could touch Volta's skin.

"Careful laddie," he chuckled, rubbing his fingers together. "You'll hurt yourself." He wiped his hands on his pants and returned to his drawing. Volta sat on the anvil, wary of any other bubbles that could swell up from the cracks.

"So, laddie. Where are you from?"

Volta shifted in his seat. Should he tell him? He would know if he was lying, or telling half-truths, as he had so often to Zoro and the rest. The bastard could read his mind, so he likely already had an idea of what he was going to say anyway.

_Isn't that right, you shitty old man?_

No reaction from Zwergherr. He continued to draw, pen moving across the sheet in straight lines and hard angles.

"I'm from Austria."

"Hmm. Not the Homeland. I see."

"What's the name of the Homeland?"

"Drusselstein."

For a brief moment, Volta felt the side of his head cave in. "Yeah, that's about right."

"A fair place," Zwergherr whispered. "Twisted snake of an island it be. Lotsa mountains, the Great Spine we call it."

"Why does your accent chance so much?" Volta asked. "You can sense my thoughts, so you must know why that's so strange to me, seeing where you're from."

Zwergherr chuckled, much more good-naturedly this time. "I can't read ya thoughts sonny. Just ya feelings, en only ta de extent of the aura ya got around ya. As for my accent, well, it's a product of me childhood. Da fate of a wee little babe born from a line with a mix a everythin. Not that it's somethin I can't help, mind ya. Here, I'll solidify it into something you can understand perfectly. Much better, am I right?"

The change in tone was drastic and eerie, and a month ago Volta wasn't sure he would have believed something so ridiculous as being possible. But at this point he was likely the only sane man in a universe that had lost its marbles _long_ ago. When in Rome, right? He should have realized that when he was fighting a giant chicken monster under an island shaped like a sunny side up, or hell, when fighting a living _beer bottle_ from the start of his adventure.

He wished he knew a little bit more of what was coming down the road, if only so he could make sarcastic quips about it in the now and be self-assured of his own superiority. But no, all he got was a mind-reading German dwarf lord, albeit accompanied by the world's best armory. He supposed that would do.

"…you are the most complicated man I've ever met."

Volta tipped his hat. "Thank you."

"Zwowowowo! But seriously now, you haven't answered my question. Or rather, you haven't answer it enough."

"Austria is like Drusselstein," Volta said. "Grasslands and beautiful mountains. Rivers as blue as the sky. Lots of infrastructure and far too much pollution, but if you turned your eyes in the right direction and squinted, it looked like man had never touched the earth."

Zwergherr smiled, wide enough for Volta to tell. "Yes. That is the Homeland. That is yours and mine both. And the craftsmen?"

"Not as big as they were," Volta said. "My homeland started to become a lot like the rest of the world. Do you know what globalization is?"

Zwergherr pursed his lips. "Is it turning something into a globe? I've done that with bita of sheet metal I'm not using."

"It means everyone starts becoming like everyone else. All the cultures start to use the same customs. Everyone wears suits, everyone eats the same snacks, everyone has the same technology."

The great craftsman nodded. "I see. I sense a trade-off in that, but we're getting sidetracked. What part of the Homeland are you from?"

"Salzburg."

Volta could see it now. Baroque buildings, gleaming churches. The chittering tourists, snapping their photos and whining about the heat. The people who made the city their home, ignoring them as best they could as they went about their days. Shops and streets from a time gone by.

And the fortress. The great stone fortress, lying on a hill like a flaccid white balloon. An ugly place for ugly people, and for children to be bent into ugly shapes.

"I'm sorry."

Volta blinked, startled back into reality. Zwergherr stared at him with big, sad eyes.

"I'm so sorry that you suffered so. This is the pain I feel from you, the raw anger at your torment."

"It's nothing," Volta grit out. "I've endured worse here, in this world."

"Hmm." Zwergherr returned to his sheets, and his pen. The lines of ink slashed out of the tip and onto the page, little flourishes here and there to keep the whole thing from looking too rectangular. Was the conversation over? Volta didn't feel like it was.

"You know," Zwergherr chuckled. "The way your throat moves makes me think you have more than a few accents of your own buried in you."

Volta laid upon the anvil, trying to keep his sweat from running into his eyes. "You're not wrong. I've been around."

"Hmm."

The swishes of the pen and the bubbling of the lava were the only sounds for some time. Volta looked up at the great swords and axes, the flail that looked big enough to bat meteors out of the sky.

"Do giants exist in this world?"

"Yup."

"Ah. Good to know."

More swishing and bubbling. Like the chorus to a song that wasn't being sung. Volta wondered, for perhaps umpteenth time, just how he was going to find and kill Luffy.

"Hmm."

_Swish swish_

Volta rolled over. "Nothing to say?"

"An old comrade of mine used to say that everyone's got a hundred people they want to kill. It is, as we say in the Homeland, _Pferdeschei__ße._"

Volta snorted. "That's about right."

"But eet may be true fahr you, no?"

"Now you sound French."

"Ah, ze old Germa een me."

"German? No, I said _French._"

"Zwowowowowo! Do not know either of those. But I'd love to hear more about them."

Volta smiled. "Sure. I'll tell you as much as you want."

He was starting to get used to the heat.

.~===)==============={%}

Denny awoke to the glare of a light above him. Was he dead? Had his wounds been too severe? What a waste of time that had been then…

…no. It was a surgical light. Gray-blue metal covered the walls and floor, and the ceiling could not be seen through all the vents and pipes. A screen nearby monitored his heartbeat, little digital gauges dropping up and down as he breathed in and out, chest rising against his bandages.

A stab of pain in his side. The side he'd sliced. Well, so be it. He wondered if it would scar.

"HE'S AWAKE!"

A cry of joy from beside him. He turned his head, seeing a couple of Marine medics jumping up and down. They were young and excitable, and one took off, likely to tell someone about his success. He wondered if this was their first time doing this sort of operation.

Wait, had there been an operation? He slowly pulled the cover away, revealing a small line of stitching on his stomach.

His head! A horrible ache struck it, and he groaned. The room blurred, brightened and dimmed. Why had he hit himself so damn hard?

"Are you alright?" the remaining medic asked. "The pain killers are wearing off. We can give you another shot of morphine-"

"No," he growled, and the syllable was enough to send another spear though his head. He would have screamed, but that would have made it worse. He let it burst within him, and the only thing that came out of his mouth was a wheeze. Still hurt.

"But sir, if you don't get some morphine in you…well, pretty soon everything else is gonna start hurting too."

"Drugs…addiction…can't risk…"

The medic frowned. "Addiction? The Vegapunk Codex has a lot of instructions for how to avoid that. Though, even that makes note of how every person has a different level of susceptibility…"

"Don't…risk," Denny rasped. "Can't risk…anything."

"Stop talking!" the medic cried. "You need to let your body heal, and in this case that means no movement of any kind. That includes your lips."

The medic walked across the room and flipped a switch. The lights above darkened, and Denny sighed as his pain got a little better. Emphasis on _little_, but he'd take what he could get at this point.

Even thinking was painful, but he needed his wits about him, something morphine would only dilute. He glanced around the darkened room, wincing at the glow from the monitor screen. Only Marines had technology this advanced, and only for medical bays. He'd learned that in his old gang, which had drilled the different Marine vessel specs into his head, and how to approach them if they came across you at sea.

Man o' wars were ship killers, while cruisers could be a command vessel or a transport. Caravels were small and easy to sink, but dangerous in great numbers. Prison ships were monstrous crafts, comparable to the mythic battleships of the Grand Line. But the one thing they all had on common was a well-equipped medical bay. For whatever reason, Marines _really _cared about the health of their prisoners before condemning them to torture.

Denny could tell that he'd be here for a while. More generally, he was going to be in ships for a while, eating, sleeping, shitting. Bleeding, if there were battles to fight and he wasn't fast or strong enough. He considered himself stronger than a good number of his men, but they weren't exactly the model of musculature, and neither was he. Good thing Kubomi hadn't been either.

At least, he thought that was what his name had been. Denny wasn't sure, but 'his' commander had shouted it a lot, or a variant of it. He'd have to wait for someone to say it. But what about his full name? He'd have to use his 'amnesia' and have someone say 'his' surname for him.

He grinned despite the pain. _Because _of the pain. Bashing his head and pretending to lose his memory was a near-perfect ploy. He could pretend to know nothing and through that learn everything. And when he had all the knowledge he needed, he'd be able to plan his next move. Survival was the end goal still, but afterward…well, maybe there was a future for him here. Maybe somewhere else. He honestly didn't know and didn't really want to think about it too much, head splitting as it was.

But one thing was certain. He had to lay low, keep a cool head. Any unwarranted attention could detect a moment of carelessness on his part. A moment seen that could breed suspicion, doubt. Why had Kubomi burned that pirate he killed in the catacombs? Why does he walk a little differently from before? Doesn't his posture seem a little off to you? The questions could go on forever, any one of them prying past the deception, seeing what lay beneath.

The pain in his head grew worse, until he was beginning to reconsider his stance on morphine. He'd never taken drugs, but he'd seen others do so, and the results were often the same. He'd rather get sent to Impel Down then suffer that fate.

Hey, had the other medic ran off? He couldn't hear anything. The door was still open, he could tell by the light filtering into the room. He tried not to turn his head too much, closing his eyes and allowing his thoughts to run out of him, like snot from a runny nose. Damn, what a shitty analogy.

Footsteps.

"Flowers? Fucking flowers? Kubomi _hates _that shit!"

"He does not! Besides, what could be a better get-well-soon present?"

"Chocolate."

"Maybe for you, but you _always _want chocolate."

"Only when I'm not sleeping. So just for two-thirds of the day."

"Why does that not reassure me?"

Noises. Voices. One female, two males, one of them a bit of a heftier guy by the sound of him. Well, he shouldn't judge on voice alone. He opened his eyes.

Shadows danced along the light of the doorway, and three faces peered down at him. A young woman, blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail. Her smile was bright, and she had a bouquet of pink lilies in her hands. Where had she found them? Flowers didn't grow on the mountain, the altitude was too high. And Kubomi hated flowers? Who hated flowers?

Denny reached out for them as he studied the other faces. He'd been right about the hefty guy. He towered over the other two, arms thick with muscle. But his face had a peaceful countenance, albeit marred with concern at the moment.

The last guy looked fierce, but in a nervous sort of way. His brown hair stuck up in the back, giving the impression of an explosion of spikes kept under wraps with his hat.

Denny placed the flowers on his stomach.

"Hey guys," he said. The effort of speaking pained his head, and he couldn't quite hide his wince. The three soldiers looked more concerned than ever. Well, the big one and the girl did. Fierce guy looked almost bemused, and more than a little relieved.

The girl leaned forward. "Kubomi? How much do you remember?"

A sudden panic gripped him. What did he say? What _could _he say? There was so much he didn't know, and the wrong answer or facial cue could tip them off. He kept his expression neutral, even as his heartrate spiked. He hoped they thought the sheen of sweat on his forehead was from the heat.

"I remember…my name." He spoke slowly, like a man coming to terms with a great shock. A home struck by lightning. A place of work torn apart by the law. A death in the family. Hell, there _had_ been a death. "I remember that I'm a Marine. I follow the way of Justice."

"No shit Sherhock," the fierce-looking Marine drawled.

The girl punched his arm. "Kona! Go easy on him, will you? This is serious!"

Go easy, huh? Denny felt no malice in fierce guy's statement, only a playful teasing, like an older brother to an annoying younger sibling. Was he ranked below this guy? Or was it an age thing? Had Kubomi's relationship with this man been one of mutual teasing? Or had he harbored a secret anger toward Kona, a desire to be free of his little barbs?

"Kona!" Denny tried to sit up, heightening the performance. "I think I'm starting to remember now, just a bit."

"Hah! See Yor, I told you it wasn't gonna be that bad! He's taken worse than this."

Denny could have laughed, if the room had been empty and the pain less agonizing. Instead he grinned and shook his head. "Sorry Kona, everything's still a little fuzzy. But I'm glad you're alright." He raised his right hand and made a fist.

Kona bumped it with his own, a goofy smile on his face. "Don't worry about it, man! You'll be back on your feet in no time!"

"I wouldn't be so optimistic," the big Marine said. "Heady injuries can lead to lifelong medical conditions. Seizures, dementia, slow loss of motor functions…"

"WILL YOU CUT THAT OUT!"

_CONK!_

The big Marine rubbed his new lump. "Ow."

Yor glared at him, fist and nostrils steaming. "You idiots can't seem to find a good middle ground for anything. You don't take anything seriously Kona, and you take everything _too _seriously!"

"Hey, you're the one who invited us," Kona groused.

"Indeed," the big Marine agreed. "The fault is yours for allowing out incorrect responses to enter this room."

Yor was about to give a retort when Denny raised his hand. "Come one guys," he said softly. "Can you take it outside? My head's killing me here."

The big Marine nodded, face as emotive as a rock. "Very well. I shall depart. I need to go find some chocolate anyway." Without another word, he stepped out of the bay, footsteps echoing on the wooden deck outside.

"He'd probably eat his own foot if it was made of chocolate," Kona snickered. "I think you hurt his feelings there Bom-Bom."

Bom-Bom? How would have Kubomi responded to the nickname? Annoyance? A light chuckle? Pretending he didn't hear it?

Denny opted for the third option, and he could _feel_ Kona's disappointment as he turned his head toward Yor. "How's the rest of the squad?'

She brightened considerably. "They're doing great! Hage got a papercut going through some old Trump records, and Hodan got a scrape loading our ship's cannon. That's about it."

How many Marines were in a squad again? Damn, he never thought he'd be wishing he'd run into them more often when he'd been a low-level crook. It was ten, right?

"And the others?"

"Raifuru is his usual crotchety self," Kona said. "Sniped from the ship, didn't get sniped back. The pirates were putty in our hands by the time we stormed the beach."

"And Kat chipped his left cutlass," Yor finished. "He's taking it hard, but it's not gonna be a tough fix."

"That's right!" Denny exclaimed, preparing himself for a dangerous leap of faith. "Kat's the swordsman!"

"He _thinks_ he's a swordsman," Kona teased. "More of a glorified butcher."

"Better than going in with your fists," Yor snipped. "You don't even carry weapons on you Kona!"

He grinned, flexing his calloused hands. "Don't need 'em, and I never have. You're more of a rifle guy yourself, in case you forgot Bom-Bom."

"Please don't call me Bom-Bom."

"Sure thing Bomi-Bomi."

Denny wasn't even mad. The pain had waned, and he felt more than a little relief that they hadn't caught on. Or maybe they had, but they were keeping it to themselves, tricking him as he was tricking them. Or maybe the guy who had left figured it out, and he was one his way to tell his superiors. Or maybe the _medics _had figured it out, not finding a birthmark Kubomi had shown off, or a molar where Kubomi had lost his to poor dental maintenance! _Or maybe the commander had figured him out, and was creating the perfect trap for him, letting him think he'd fooled everyone when-_

"Kubomi? You're sweating like crazy."

Damnit damnit damnit _damnit_. He took a deep breath, expression barely neutral. "I'm feeling a little hot…"

"That's easy to fix!" Kona pulled a fan out of his shirt and flapped it in Kubomi's face. Had he brought it just fuck with him? Huh, it felt pretty nice.

Yor punched him again and grabbed the fan. "You're not doing it right," she complained. "A good fanning needs to be slow and steady."

Denny smiled. "I liked having a strong breeze in my face. He was doing it right."

Yor smiled sweetly. "Don't be silly, Kona doesn't do _anything _right."

"HEY!"

"Don't sweat it," she chirped. "Literally or figuratively. We'll be here whenever we can, making sure you get back to full health."

"Don't take forever, alright?" Kona groused. "I need my partner in crime back on the scene."

That got a chuckle out of Denny, one that _wasn't _an act. "Aren't we supposed to stop crime?"

"You know what I mean!" Kona shouted. "Stop making me look bad!"

"I don't need to help you there."

Kona grabbed his chest. "My feeeelings!"

Now they were all laughing, without worry or care. Between the good-natured digs and real concern, they seemed like well guys, though the big one was a little morose. Denny wondered what the other four members were like. Guess a squad had eight instead of ten.

Is this the sort of rapport Kubomi had enjoyed? Is _this _what he had taken away? Guilt stabbed at him, a noxious feeling, and all at once he wanted nothing more but to hurl the bile in his stomach. How many stitches would he pull though? Couldn't risk it, not with them here at least.

The two medics rushed in. "Hey, you guys aren't allowed to be here unsupervised!"

"We weren't doin' nuthin," Kona slurred. He raised his hands in the air. "Please don't arrest me copper."

One of the medics rolled his eyes. "Get out, both of you. Hey, don't leave flowers on him!"

He grabbed the bouquet and set it on a nearby table. Huh, Kubomi hadn't noticed in before.

"Alright, I guess we'll take ourselves outta the picture," Kona said. "Take care dude. I think the Lieutenant Commander is gonna want to interrogate you soon."

Denny's eyes widened, and if he thought his heartrate had been high before, it nearly _tripled. _"What?!"

"Kahahahahahahaha, chill dude! It's not a _real _interrogation."

"Knock it off already," Yor hissed. "Hardy just wants to ask you a few questions. You ran ahead of Kona here, which isn't like you. And with those injuries…well, you have a lot of people concerned."

Denny nodded, and he didn't need to fake his shame. Just his reason for it. "I'm sorry for running ahead Kon. I thought…I don't know what I thought."

"You set you sites on a hot pirate lady, most likely," Kona teased. "Hope this made ya learn your lesson. Hey, no pushing, I'm leaving I'm leaving!"

The medics shooed them out the door, but not before Yor gave him a little wink. The door shut behind them, enveloping the room in darkness for a second before the lights were flicked back on. Kubomi scrunched his eyes closed, preventing another headache from the sudden glare.

"Hey, can you turn those off for a while? Work by daylight?"

"There are things we need to check on, Seaman First Class Kubomi."

So that was his rank. Good to know. He was gonna need all the info he could get, especially about his 'former life.' The guilt was still there, but in the absence of his 'comrades,' it wasn't as sharp. Just the dull ache that accompanied a man's first kill, he supposed.

What did he need to know? His rank, his sleeping quarters, his old habits, the little nooks and crannies he'd crawled into when he was tired or wanted to be left alone. He needed to know the acquaintances he'd had, because there'd likely been many more than just his squad. He needed to know what his schedule had been, what duties were going to be expected of him when he healed.

…_Kubomi's, _not his. Not him. But then again…he _was _Kubomi. At least for a while. He wondered if they'd come after him if he deserted. He had no reason to believe they wouldn't. Shit, this could be more difficult then he'd expected, and he'd expected a huge challenge already.

He turned his attention back to the medical bay. There were more beds off to the left of him, all with their own metal attachments and right lights. This was likely the ER, or something equivalent to that.

The medics had gone from joyful to professional. They hurried around the room, checking equipment and readings. The screen to his side was displaying more stable bars, which hovered around the midpoint. He couldn't read the words, but he hoped things were looking good.

…wait. What the hell was he doing? He was thinking so far ahead into the future he hadn't even considered his current condition!

"Hey, guys. Am I gonna pull through?"

One of the medics came over. A young blonde kid with a kind face. "You've suffered head trauma, as well as lacerations and bruising over your chest and legs. But based on our scans…"

The medic held out his hand, and his partner put a sheet of paper in it. Kubomi gaped, as he found himself staring at his own brain.

"See this part right here?" The medic pointed to the white edge of the head, where the usual straightness gave way to a thin fuzziness. "It's hard to make out, but that's what the front of your skull looks like right now."

Now Denny was outright terrified. "I cracked my _skull?_"

"Only a little. We'll be putting you on a milk IV drip as soon as we can confirm that your skull will heal properly, with no bone protrusions or possible splintering."

Denny's eyes nearly popped out of his head. _"Splintering!"_

The medic's smile grew wider. "Not to worry, there shouldn't be any problem. In fact, it's the lack of problems here that has us confused. Notice anything off about the brain itself?"

The impersonator grew nervous again. He could tell where this was going. Had his paranoid delusions been right? Were they slowly, sadistically revealing the truth behind his deception? Was the interrogation going to be an all-too _real_ interrogation?

"I…don't see anything wrong?"

"Precisely," the medic exclaimed. He seemed a little too happy that his patient had figured it out. "The brain doesn't look like it's gone through any trauma at all! Considering how bad your head injury looked, we feared for the worst, but in truth you're in much better shape than we thought."

Was the medic just this excited to be sharing his findings? Or was he excited because he was playing a key role in torturing a pirate? Kubomi felt his options dwindle down to nothing. Panic threatened to swamp him, submerge him, _drown _him.

"But…but I don't remember anything!" he cried. "I can't remember…I can't remember the faces of my parents."

Perfect! He channeled his fear, his _terror_, into raw emotion. The kind that brought tears no matter what kind of emotion it was.

Through his blurry eyes, he saw the medic's face fall. "I'm really sorry about that, soldier. For someone to suffer post-traumatic amnesia without any major brain injury is very...unlikely. But I promise you, we're doing everything we can to figure this out. It seemed like you recognized your friends. Maybe you just need a few days to recover. You'll be getting plenty of rest here for the next week or two. Maybe you'll regain your memories then."

He really didn't know, Denny realized. The medic had a look of complete honesty on his face, nothing deceptive about it at all. But then again, he sucked at reading faces, at reading intent. If he didn't, then maybe the Bear King would still be in power, the Trump Pirates on the road to world domination. And he wouldn't be stuck in this fucking mess.

Well, no use whining about it. He needed a plan. The pain in his head had disappeared entirely, a relief that allowed him to think a bit more carefully about his next step.

"Oh! The Lieutenant Commander is here."

Shit! Well, he knew what the next step was gonna be now. Survive the interrogation.

The door opened, and the man Kubomi had seen yesterday walked in. He wore his coat normally, a rare sight among Marine officers, and his long mustache and normal uniform underneath gave him a distinguished air. Though the bags under his eyes and slightly disheveled hair dampened the look a bit.

More striking to Denny's eyes was the kind look on his face, which while not out of place on a medic dedicated to healing the hurt, seemed almost comical on a tough Marine officer like Hardy. That had been his name, right?

"Good to see you awake soldier," Hardy stated. "I was worried about you."

Denny blinked. "Me, sir?"

"There weren't a great number of injuries, and no deaths. Remarkable, but I guess that's the Commodore for you. You were the most injured man on the field."

Great. Just _great. _How had a gambit to avoid attention only caused him _more _attention?

"I'm glad you're thinking of me sir. But you don't have to go out of your way-"

"I very much will," Hardy hmphed. "Kubomi, your efforts yesterday, however small, brought us closer to victory. A victory we then achieved. The Trump Pirates are a threat no more, and a part of that is because you cleared out the caverns beneath the harbor."

"Did you…send anyone down there?"

"We did."

_No!_

"We found a burned-up body. One of the pirates you killed, no doubt. As for the others, we couldn't find them, but the caverns go down very far. How many passageways were you fighting in?"

He hadn't been found out. The burning had been successful. That guilt again, churning in his gut, threatened to spill out into some burst of emotion. Buut he repressed it.

"Well, it's a waste of time to go hunting for pirate bodies," the commander admitted. "Your condition yesterday spoke towards your actions. Good thing your injuries were better than they looked."

They hadn't felt very good regardless, though the pain in his head was gone now. Strange that.

Hardy reached into his coat, pulling out two black armbands. "Your rank signifiers were gone. Did the pirates rip them off?"

Armbands? Shit, he hadn't even noticed them on Kubomi. He'd focused on getting the pants off.

"I used them to staunch the bleeding," Deny lied. "But they got so soaked I threw them away."

"You should have kept them in place," Hardy reprimanded. "Medic, can severe blood loss lead to memory loss?"

One of the medics shook his head, a little bemused. "Not unless it's a stroke, or a particularly bad case of dizziness, but that's not a _loss_ of memory. Don't you remember anything from the health class they gave you as a recruit?"

Hardy chuckled. "Not a thing. Maybe I'm having a stroke right now."

"Don't joke about such things sir!" the medic protested, but he couldn't quite keep the smile off his face.

"In any case, try to keep these on you, no matter how soaked they get. Don't want to bleed out."

Would he have bled out from his injuries? Denny didn't think so, but he had hit himself pretty hard. He took the bands and slipped them on. He slid the right one all the way to his upper arm, but there was a gash on his left in the same place, so he slid that band up to his elbow instead.

"Great," Hardy beamed. "Now you look properly Seaman First Class."

"A very wounded Seaman First Class," Denny smirked.

"True enough."

Two soldiers entered the room with a chair. Denny, now aware of the importance of the bands, observed their arms. They didn't have any. Weren't there three classes of Marine soldier? If they didn't have any, and he had two, then that stood to reason the rank in between had one. He hoped that was the case.

They set down the chair near his bed and left. Hardy sat down and pulled a small notebook from his coat, and a pen from his hat. Denny took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves.

"I want to ask you a few questions Kubomi, based on your experience. It's a survey, required for all Marines who have gone through especially harrowing circumstances. I'm sure you've heard of it."

Denny hadn't, of course. That didn't stop him from nodding his head.

"Question one. How did you get separated from your squad?"

"I saw some pirates enter a tunnel in the back of the harbor. I thought they had some means of escaping aside from the cave entrance, so I gave chase to stop them."

The response was automatic, something the commander would want to hear. But if he just gave the most patriotic answers, it could alert suspicions. He needed to be 'honest' as well. A plan began to form.

The pain in his head did not return.

"Question two. What happened to you after you were separated from your squad?"

Denny took another deep breath. He needed to be as precise as possible.

"After I entered the tunnel, I realized that it would be difficult to shoot my rifle with a light in one hand."

"Where did you get this light?" Hardy asked. "You weren't equipped with one."

This _was _an interrogation. But Hardy looked concerned, not calculating. He seemed a little uncomfortable with his own questioning, but he was bound by the Navy's procedures.

"There were a bunch of lanterns near the tunnels, set up by the pirates. I took advantage of one. But I couldn't hold one and fire at the same time. So, I meant to turn back, but when I did, I was ambushed. There was a struggle. My rifle was knocked away, but he got a hand on his knife and turned it on him."

Hardy nodded, unexpressive.

"I then continued forward, but with the knife instead of the rifle. The pirate's lantern broke during the struggle, and that's what set him on fire. I think. It was confusing down there."

"We found the body a little deeper into the tunnels. But you continued afterwards?"

Hardy was disbelieving. Denny wasn't sure he believed his own survival either. It had been a moment of true darkness, an escape through the blood of another. The guilt stabbed him again.

"I continued forward and killed three more pirates. In the first of these kills I took the wound to my arm. In the second I got sliced on my back. Punching them bloodied my knuckles. Finally, while fighting I tripped and bashed my head on a rock. But I'd already brought down the third pirate. I was dizzy with blood loss at the time, so I lost track of where I was in the tunnels. I don't think I could lead you through them. I'm…not even sure how I got back out."

Hardy waved his hand. "Like I said, a few pirate corpses aren't worth the trouble of going back in for. What's important is that you got out. When did you get the wound on your stomach?"

Denny _almost _froze. He wracked his brain, trying to think of an answer. Damnit, why had he claimed to kill more then one pirate? If Hardy was even vaguely more investigative, he'd be a goner!

"I'm not sure."

Hardy didn't question it. And all at once something clicked from Denny. This man had a prior relationship with Kubomi. Had he been a man he'd brought in personally, a family member of a friend? Or perhaps he saw potential in him, as an officer in the future? In any of those cases, he didn't want to question anything because he had personal reason to not be suspicious.

Denny cracked a smile. This was good. This was _useful. _But there was another challenge in it, because if Hardy _ever _suspected something was off, he would do everything he could to figure it out. Because that's what a man did for the comrades he cared about. A righteous desire that would damn him if he wasn't careful.

"Question three. How has your experience affected you personally?"

…_what? _What kind of question was that? Who wrote this survey? Denny didn't need to be 'honest' for this one, just flat-out truthful.

"…I'm scared."

Hardy's eyebrows quirked at the slight tremble in Denny's voice. Damn, he should have gone into the acting field!

"I can't remember much about myself. About my likes and dislikes, my hobbies and aspirations. I can't remember anything from my childhood. I can't even remember…remember my father's face."

Oh, what he wouldn't give to forget that bastard's face.

"I can't remember entering the Navy. I can't even remember where I got the idea."

"I brought you in," Hardy said, his own voice full of emotion. "You were a bystander, watching a bust go down on Shady Island. While I was cuffing one of the dealers, another pulled a gun on me. You, a citizen who had no reason to step in, jumped on him and threw off his aim. Took a nasty right hook for it, but my men were able to subdue him. You saved my life Kubomi."

Woah. Denny's eyes blurred again, and he reached with a trembled, bandaged hand to wipe at them. "I remember a gun. I can't recall the rest. But there's one thing I haven't forgotten. If I jumped in to save you, then I _did _have a reason to step in. I didn't want a man of the law to fall to petty crooks. I didn't want them to win, even for a moment. I wanted the good guys to triumph, completely and utterly."

Hardy wiped away a tear. "Funny enough, you said something quite similar that day. I offered you a chance to be part of the good guys, and you took it gladly. My doubts are gone now. You'll definitely recover, because what makes you brave, what makes you a Marine, what makes you _Kubomi_…"

The Marine tapped a finger to Denny's chest.

"…will never disappear."

"WAAAAAAAH!"

The two medics near them burst into tears, complete waterfalls of snot and water. It was the perfect antidote for the pain in Denny's chest, a maelstrom of grief and horror.

He's killed a good man. Not a Marine, or an enemy. A _fucking _good man. And he'd replaced him with a his pathetic, criminally stupid self, an idiot who'd destroyed his old crew.

For a moment, he entertained the idea of revealing the truth to Hardy. Allowing himself to be arrested for his crimes. Piracy, drug-running, impersonation.

Murder. Murder of a good man.

But then…Kubomi would really die. He'd be gone forever. How would his squad feel? How would Hardy feel? How would _he _feel? For such a good man's legacy to be snuffed out, all because some piece of trash with a knife had been a bit luckier than he had?

No. _Fuck _that.

"You're right, sir," Denny whispered. "I'm not going anywhere. I'll get my memories back. And I'll be a great Marine someday."

Hardy sniffled, his professionalism gone. "You don't have to wait for that day anymore. I've discussed this with the Commodore, and after I told him of your exploits, he's more than happy to approve it.

Exploits? That word had grand connotations. A sinking feeling entered Kubomi's gut.

Hardy stood up, professionalism returning, but the joy in his eyes was plain to see. "Seaman First Class Kubomi, I hereby promote you to Petty Officer."

The medics started bawling all over again, holding each as they did so. Denny stared at Hardy as if he had just shot his puppy.

"Are you alright Kubomi?"

"It's just…it's just so sudden."

"You'll be instated properly as soon as your injuries are healed. Congratulations soldier. You'll be commanding your squad now."

The trembling wasn't from fear now, or any sense of shame. It was the tremble of panic, of raw fear. "But what about the squad's current leader?"

"Ah. Well, to be honest, this promotion isn't just due to your recent experience. Petty Officer Hage was found asleep in the liquor stores, three empty bottles in his lap. He's been demoted back to Seaman Apprentice. So, you and he are switching places."

If Denny was scared before, he was outright _terrified_ now. He couldn't imagine a worse scenario for resentment and insubordination to breed. He didn't even need to be a Marine to know that.

"Sir…what if Hage is unruly?"

"Don't worry soldier," Hardy said with a smile. "If he's insubordinate, then you make sure he's properly punished for it. I'll give you some pointers in the coming days on how to lead effectively, but I'm sure you'll get the hang of it without too much trouble. I believe in you Kubomi. Whatever may come, you have my support."

And with that, Hardy picked up his chair and left the medical bay. "I'll check up on you tomorrow!" he called. Then he was gone.

Denny collapsed into his bed. The pain was starting to come back, in his head, his back, everywhere. Even his fingers ached.

Damn Hardy, and damn the emotional rollercoaster he'd sent him on. He didn't know how to lead a squad, certainly not one as quirky as his!

What would his relationship with Kona be now? Would he have to punish his 'friend' for his teasing? Could he still maintain his authority if he allowed it to continue? What about the others? He hadn't even met them yet. Hage was going to be a pain in the ass for sure. Maybe the big morose guy as well.

Times like this required more planning, but Denny's head was starting to throb. There would be plenty of time for panicking tomorrow, after he'd gotten plenty of sleep.

But just before he drifted off, he came to a decision. He wasn't going anywhere. He didn't expect forgiveness for his murder, not by man or God, but damn it all if he couldn't find atonement. He'd be the best damn Kubomi he could be.

_But restful sleep did not come to Denny. His dreams twisted around him, a kaleidoscope of dark tunnels and haunted faces. His face. Kubomi's face. He couldn't tell them apart anymore. Knives burst out from eyeballs to slice and claw, and if he ran away, Hardy and his squad were behind him, ready to shoot him dead. An eye for an eye, a stab for a stab, a body for a body. Denny fell ever deeper into the darkness. The body fell with him, sightless, merciless, grasping for purchase in his own screaming form. _

.~===)==============={%}

"Volta, do you know how to make a gun?"

"No."

"Do you know how to assemble one?"

"Yes."

"Do you know how to make a scabbard?"

"No."

"Do you know how to maintain one?"

"…yes."

Zwergherr stroked his beard. "Alright. Watch carefully."

The first steps were already done. Blitzeinschlag's measurements had been marked down, a blueprint drawn for what was to come. The sword's blade was thirty-nine inches, and the scabbard would have magnets set near the gun block, keeping the blade from jiggling around in all the extra space.

"Albedu was a punk," Zwergherr sneered. "Only reason I acquiesced was because I'd never made a gun scabbard before, and I wanted to challenge myself. But you don't strike me as punk, even though you dress like one."

"If you're going to make me a new gun," Volta said. "I have three requests."

Zwergherr frowned. Maybe. "Don't leave me hanging."

"I want it to be light. I want Seastone in the bullets. And I want it to be loud."

His eyebrows twitched, in a way that Volta could only perceive as amusement. "How loud we talking?"

"_Loud._ I want everyone to hear it, to know I'm around. To know what's coming after them."

"Zwowowowowo! You are a bit a punk after all! But I can't say I dislike the energy there. Who are ya planning to kill with these _uproariously _loud Seastone bullets?"

"A man who fancies himself the Pirate King."

Zwergherr froze. His eyes narrowed, and for a moment Volta felt that terrible grip of madness, a little spark of fire dancing on the edge of his vision.

"Is that so. Well then…"

He turned and returned to his work. "Forgive my last statement. You're an edgy little brat, but certainly no punk. You're a punk hunter."

"Is that what you perceive throne seekers to be?" Volta asked.

"That's what the Pirate King _was_, kid. A man too big for his britches who chased after things he had no business getting involved in."

The measuring stopped, and for a moment, Zwergherr's hands fell limp.

"Then again…if we use that definition, my old boss was a punk too."

Volta smirked. "Boss…or captain?"

"Oh? Gonna arrest me after I've given you your toy?"

He shook his head. "We both know that's never gonna happen, even if I wanted to. And I really don't. You're not causing any trouble out here."

Zwergherr finished his last flourish, and he set down the pen. He hopped over a little lava stream and pressed his hand against one of the few parts of the wall not covered in weapons. It opened to reveal another room, much smaller and filled to the brim with materials. He set his axe against the wall. It was the first time he'd put it down since taking it off his mantel.

"What about all the weapons I've made for others? Albedu and the like?"

"How many bullets did you make for him?"

"Two."

"He never used them. But he probably cut down a few innocents with his sword."

"And is that on me, or on him?"

"Him."

"Hmmm…interesting."

Zwergherr returned with a massive crate. He slammed it down next to his anvil and ripped the top off. But with the metal he pulled from it, he had a delicate touch.

"What about…the civilians that died to Bear's reign? Will you put that on me too, for not stopping him?"

"I wish you had," Volta said. "Why didn't you?"

The craftsman shrugged. "I wanted to see where it would all go, I suppose. To see if he could really get to the Grand Line and make something of himself there. A rare find, that Fruit of his, and as Paramecia go it's quite frightening. I've got a friend who can shatter the air with his fists, and I don't think even he'd be able to harm him without a touch of the black stuff."

"Black stuff?"

{%}===============(===~.

"_This is such a lovely blade," the man commented, as he held the tip between his fingers. Fingers that had turned black as midnight._

{%}===============(===~.

"The black stuff!" Volta cried.

"Oh, you've seen it before? Interesting."

He turned to him, a million questions in mind, but Zwergherr stopped him with a wagging finger.

"I know you want to know boy, but it's best if you find out on your own time, in your own way. This is one spoiler you'll not get out of me."

Volta growled. "I need to know. If it's something I can counteract. Or perhaps something I can learn. Because it wasn't a Devil Fruit."

"That it isn't," Zwergherr admitted. "But to your other questions…well, mum's the word. Come on kid, I'm making you a badass shotgun, aren't I? Why don't you settle for what you've got?"

Volta continued to glare, but the man clearly wasn't budging. He thought of ways to change his mind, perhaps soften up his resolve. But anything he considered of, the geezer would sense, in his weird sort of way. And it could jeopardize him getting a new scabbard to replace the one Zwergherr had destroyed.

And, he didn't really feel like trying to manipulate the guy. He wasn't bad by any stretch, albeit not good either. Just neutral. Was this another way of enforcing his own neutrality, by withholding important info from him?

"I have an idea of what you're feeling about me right now," Zwergherr said, and this time Volta could clearly make out his smile. "It's far simpler than that. I want you to explore. The same way I did, so many years ago. Learn on your own, and from those experiences come to your own conclusions. If you do that, I think you'll find any mastery you obtain to be infinitely more rewarding."

Volta smirked at that. "Can't cheat your way through the journey, huh? Well, it's a bit late for that, I've already found some stuff on Devil Fruits here in the East Blue."

Zwergherr's smile widened. "But you still sought out that information, yes? You still explored. That's different from taking advantage of a present circumstance. It may be a value in its own right, but not always. Not for the things that matter to me, and maybe not for you either, I think."

Volta winced at how easily the old man was getting into his head, but he wasn't entirely wrong. "Yeah, it would be more rewarding to find it on my own. I was taught to take advantage of everything in my path."

Zwergherr winced. "A foul teacher you had, if that was the main lesson."

"He was a hell of a lot worse than foul. But he won't be troubling anyone ever again."

If anything, that just make Zwergherr wince even harder. "A student killing their master is never a good thing, boy. Did you expect me to praise you, based on what I had just said before? Eh, our talk has gone on too long, the time has come for me to craft. Watch carefully, so you'll know what to do for maintenance."

"I can't bring you along to maintain it for me?"

"Like a squire for a holy knight? Zwowowowowo, that'll be the day!"

The metal was wide, cylindrical. And it was thinner than Volta had expected.

"The scabbard you had was a good inch and a half wide. This'll be just an inch and a quarter. The slugs will be of a lesser caliber, but I've got some tricks to make then go a lot further, and with even a bit more force."

"A strange contradiction."

Zwergherr grinned. "If I'm being honest, figuring out all the little tricks of a weapon like this has been the most fun I've had in years. Better then fixing up some of the junk on this island."

"You consider their inventions junk?"

"Zwowowowowo, not at all! I've learned a thing or two from these folks, including how to work this out. But that doesn't mean there ain't junk lying around."

Volta conceded the point with a nod, watching as the master worked his magic.

And what magic it was. Zwergherr sliced away the excess material with a metal shaver, his other hand polishing the tube until it shined. He dug deeper into the crate, pulling three blocks out and setting them on the anvil. He took out a hammer on his belt and smashed one to pieces. The second one dented badly. The third didn't budge.

"As expected. This is what we want."

He tapped it, and the side popped open, revealing all manner of delicate clockwork. The influence had clearly been felt most strongly in the gun bits, the part that held the slugs and the gunpowder.

"Black powder is a volatile substance," Zwergherr explained. "It's the shit Marine firearms are stuffed with, along with most pirate guns. Cheap and easily ignitable; a good shock or some heat will do the trick. I've had to invent a whole new type just for this weapon."

"Smokeless."

"Not what I call it, but I'm sure your folk had it figured out _long _before I did. Probably a good number of folks here too. I don't mind, not interested in winning any races. Just wanna make the best product possible. But anyway, I call it White Powder, cuz I'm so original, and it's _much _easier to manipulate. Less smoke, less fouling, but most importantly, more power. Even slugs as small as what's poppin outta this baby will be tearing through blokes like they're not even there, and that's _without _the air pressure."

"A nasty little trick you gave Albedu," Volta grinned. "I'd love it for myself."

Zwergherr gave another of his dark chuckles. "Ask, and it will be given to you."

_That _got a gasp out of Volta. "The Bible?!"

"Wow, guess our worlds aren't so different after all! But I bet your version is a hell of a lot different."

Volta grimaced. "That's…an oddly disquieting thought."

"Are you a man of faith?"

He shook his head. "Not at all."

"Hmm."

The work continued. It became clear that this would be no hard task for the craftsman, having already practiced on Albedu's weapon, and likely protypes on top of that. The tube was looking especially polished now, his left hand rubbing and turning it at the same time. Some strange grease? Or was there a cloth under his grip? It was hard for Volta to see.

"I thought of putting slots in, but it's too wide for that. The edges have been tempered so that if your blade hits them while you unsheathe it, it'll be sharpened, like a kitchen knife. Not as clean as a whetstone, but enough to give you just the slightest bit more edge as you cut."

"It seems like you've thought of everything."

Zwergherr smiled. "Almost everything. I couldn't quite fit the grenade launcher in."

That got a laugh out of Volta, but his eyes never left the anvil. Strange that he was working on one, since he wasn't using it for its intended purpose. Perhaps he had something in mind for the blade itself?

Soon the polishing and shaving was finished. The scabbard's length was smooth to the touch, and a little on the hot side.

"It'll cool soon," Zwergherr explained. "I must warn you, it's temperature resistant but only to a point. Blitzeinschlag could probably cut fire if you gain enough skill with it, but the composition of the scabbard itself won't allow it to take anything above a thousand degrees without suffering some kinda damage."

Volta rose an eyebrow. That's a damn high bar."

"Not as high as you think," Zwergherr grumbled. "There's some damn hot islands in the world. Point is, if you leave your sword in your scabbard while in extreme temperatures, the heat will be magnified through the metal, and that could damage the blade! Same for cold temperatures, though that's gonna take a lot more the other way. Not to mention the havoc it will play on the mechanisms that make it fire, Extreme temperature is this thing's only weakness."

He banged it hard against the anvil. Then, before Volta could protest, he _slammed _his hammer onto it, and while it was at a diagonal angle to boot. There wasn't so much as a scratch, let alone a bend.

"Key word being _only._ This thing has Seastone reinforcement. Not too much, but enough that any Logia user's gonna get a nasty surprise if ya decide to hit a home run."

"Baseball too?"

"Yup."

The next part was harder, Volta could tell. Zwergherr tucked his beard in even tighter and dug a welding mask out of the crate. But a quick glance into it revealed no blowtorch.

"Ya might wanna stand back for this next bit."

Volta complied, just in time for another rumble to shake the forge. Two giant hammers unfolded from the ceiling, their attached chains twisting them so they'd clash right over the occupied anvil.

The hunter covered his ears. Zwergherr held up the gun block.

_**CLAAAAANNNG!**_

His ears rung so hard he feared his drums would burst, but sound slowly returned to him. He didn't need his ears to see though, and what he saw astounded him. The gun block, naked side gears and all, was still unharmed.

"Alright, that's the second strength test. Volta, hand me that scalpel over there."

He looked in the direction of Zwergherr's pointing, to a thin, long blade on another table near the wall. The shock of the hammer blow still coursed through him, and his ink lashed out and snatched up the instrument. The tendril moved across the heated floor, steaming a little as it got to close, until it was within Zwergherr's reach. He grabbed it, then bent over, letting its tip soak in the lava. He made no comment on Volta's ability.

"Lava welding. Nothing beats the thrill of almost burnin yourself! Especially over something as crazy as this. It takes a certain level of skill to keep the stuff from melting through your craft. The kind you only get after decades of experience."

"I thought you just said it couldn't take anything above a thousand degrees?" Volta questioned.

"Exactly! In the hands of an amateur this tube's toast, but it's precisely because of this small weakness that I can make something even better!"

The scalpel was white-hot now, and with a delicacy those thick fingers should not have had, he traced the edges of the tube's bottom, spreading the heat around and softening up the metal. Then, quick as a flash, he set down the scalpel and put the gun block under the tube, a gaping hole perfectly matching the edges. He fused them together and used the scalpel to scrap away any excess.

For what felt like hours Volta stood, mesmerized by the careful work. Zwergherr scraped and sliced, then paved, turning the metal into putty under his care. He started to etch little figures in it, runes that Volta couldn't understand.

"I have a raven tattoo on my back," he said. "Can you etch that in as well?"

"Certainly. I'll put it on the gun block."

And that was exactly what he did. When the long scalpel showed signs of melting under its own heat, Zwergherr tossed it aside, letting it sink into a wider lava crack. He whipped a smaller, even finer one from his toolbelt and kept right on etching. He even used his fingers to wipe away some of the liquid-like waste, provoking a sharp breath from Volta.

"Not to worry lad, this is all part of the process. Almost done with the decorations."

He was actually quite far from done, if his trailing up the rest of the scabbard was any indication. Volta left him to his work, walking around the forge and seeing if there were even stranger things within it.

He took note of the firearms, some of which looked advanced enough to have been from his world. He traced his fingers along their ridges, wondering what it would be like to fire one. There was a whole section dedicated to rapiers, many of them shining different silvers against the red glow of the lava beneath him. Because of the red cast, Volta wasn't sure exactly what they looked like under the light of the sun.

He pressed his hand against one of the rapier's hilts, and accidently knocked it over. He grabbed it before it could fall and make a noise, and in doing so he brought its tip to the stone wall.

_Click_

"Of course it's this one," Volta groaned, as another section of wall slid away. But it wasn't a storage room. It was a smaller workshop, even lower set in the ground. One that looked ancient, as if it hadn't been used in some time.

Tentatively, he entered. The steps were covered in dust, and every move kicked up a small storm. Bunnies of the stuff lay clumped in the corners. An old smell lingered, one that lay somewhere in between ash and potato ships. The racks had no weapons, and many looked rusted.

But amidst all the ruin, one thing looked relatively clean. An old photograph, on the corner of a rotting table. It had faded with age, but two figures were easy to make out. One was Zwergherr, his beard darker and much, much shorter. Only a single weapon had been sculped out of it, a two-bladed axe.

Seelenhäcker itself lay slung over Zwergherr's right shoulder, his other arm wrapped around the shoulder of the other man. He was taller than the craftsman by several orders of magnitude, and Volta almost laughed when he realized that the craftsmen must be standing on his knee. His chin jutted forward, his eyes narrow but full of mirth. Golden locks fell to his chest, and under his pointed nose was a fabulous mustache, a crescent moon of pure white perfection. In a way, it was even more impressive then the beard Zwergherr had, because not a single hair stuck out of it, and the tips were as solid as the horns of a ram. Strangest of all, Volta didn't get the impression that it was greased, or full of gel. Just a 'stache maintained through light combing and an incredible level of self-esteem. In the man's left hand was a giant naginata, one that seemed to sparkle through the age of the photo.

"Ah…_that's _where I put it!"

Volta jumped. Zwergherr's shadow filled the entrance, and he marched down the steps. He swiped the picture and put it in his beard. "Thanks laddie, I was wondering where that photo went."

"Who was that?" Volta asked. "An old friend?"

"Zwowowowowo! To call him just a friend does little justice to him! He was the first man I ever made a blade for!"

They walked out of the old workshop, and Zwergherr tapped the wall. It slid closed again. "I've got so many of these little hideaways. Why, I think every other weapon in the room opens one. A good way to pass the time, building more rooms for my forge. But anyway, that was the best damn weapon I ever made! Murakumogiri was the name I gave, and ole Newgate never saw fit to rename it. Think they consider it one of the twelve now."

"You made one of the twelve Supreme Swords?!" Volta was starstruck. This man was a true legend!

The old craftsman rubbed the back of his head, what could be seen of his face turning a bright red. "Haw, don't compliment me _too _much! If I'm being honest, I'm right _pissed_ that I could never match that one. These hands aren't as nimble as they used to be."

Volta patted him on the shoulder. "Don't beat yourself up. You're far more accomplished then most blacksmiths in the world."

"Haw! That compliment was far too nice! Doesn't make me happy at all!" But there was a little spring in his step as he headed back to his anvil. The scabbard was close to finished, Volta could tell. He wanted to be surprised by the end result, so he purposefully averted his gaze. A childish act, but one that stoked his anticipation.

The old craftsman grabbed the hot metal weapon and dunked it in a tank of water, one he'd likely brought over while Volta had been exploring.

As the air filled with steam, a question came to mind. "Zwergherr."

"Hm?"

"Are you lonely down here?"

The craftsman paused. He scrunched his nose and blinked his eyes, as if there were a bug on his face. "Well…I suppose…but it's nothing I can't handle! I get visitors every now and then. I get out and about in the world every now and them."

"You mean the village? Have you ever been to the city on the other side, the main one on the island?"

"Oh, for sure! How else would I know about the Bear King and his lunacy?"

"What about the island itself? When was the last time you left for another?"

That gave him even longer pause. Zwergherr rubbed his head. "Well, I'm not much of a carpenter. Steel and iron are my fortes, not so much wood and cloth. Plus, the Bear King wasn't letting anyone leave."

"You could have stolen a ship."

"Well…yes."

A silence fell over the forge. Volta had a dozen more holes he could poke, but as Zwergherr's expression fell, he suddenly felt ashamed to have pushed him as far as he had. "I'm sorry."

Zwergherr waved his hand. "No need for that laddie! You're right, I could have left. I could have done a lot of things."

He rested against the anvil, unmindful of the heat. "I suppose I've grown tired of the world beyond this island. As I'm sure you might have guessed, I'm not from the East."

Volta hadn't guessed, but he said nothing.

"I used to be a man of war, a real brute on the battlefield. And a maker of weapons, which of course I still am today. But the longer I fought, the more wary I grew. The kills kept piling up, and the smell of blood started to stink in my nostrils. Then, shortly after my captain died, I came to a stark realization. I'd butchered so many that I could no longer see people as people, just bodies of meat and blood. I'd become a beast, no better than a lion that hunts guiltlessly. And when I realized this, I couldn't keep looking at myself in the mirror. I couldn't keep being the man I'd been. So, when my old crew broke up, and Newgate invited me to join him on his next adventure, I turned him down. Said I was done with the pirate life. I still loved making weapons, and I still love war, but I found that I could no longer fight in it myself. I…I didn't want to raise my hand against others anymore."

Volta lowered his head, hat hiding his eyes. "To be violent is to be human."

Zwergherr chuckled, but it was a sad sound. "No, laddie. It is the _absence_ of humanity that breeds violence. I know I'm a wee little minority on a subject like this, but out there…"

He pointed up, to the world beyond his roof of dirt and stone.

"…is a sea where violence reigns. It's a place I no longer want anything to do with."

Volta considered this. He turned it over in his head, picking at it with his mind. And an idea came to him.

"Just defend."

Zwergherr raised an eyebrow. "It's no use laddie. Defend or attack, it's still violence. I don't want to be a part of _any _of it. Any part of this violent world."

Volta wanted to argue, to counter. But what could he say to the haunted look in the old craftsman's eyes? What magical question would make his pain fade, or his fears dissolve?

_The photograph._

"I'm young. I don't know a fraction of what you do. About the world. About life."

"You certainly act like you do," Zwergherr smirked.

Volta bristled at that, but he pressed on. "Regardless of my age, I have a question for you. Just one."

"Ask away."

{%}===============(===~.

"…_you know…huff…I ever thought…that after what I've been through...huff…I'd make a friend so soon."_

"_Heh, from partners to friends…huff…huh? We've only…just met."_

"_I know…huff…and I don't really care."_

"…_yeah, me neither."_

{%}===============(===~.

"Don't you want to see your friend again?"

That gave Zwergherr the greatest pause of all. Volta didn't wait for his response. He walked to the exit. "I'm famished. Do you have any food in your kitchen?"

The craftsman nodded. "Help yourself. I need to stay here and watch the water."

Volta left.

As he disappeared back up the ladder hewn from the rock, Zwergherr sat against his anvil, beard getting a little too close to the lava cracks. He pulled it back and took the photo from it.

He stared at it, and at the joy on the two men's faces. At the radiant smile of his oldest friend.


End file.
